


Blood Tinted Sky

by ramenree



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 乐华七子NEXT | NEX7, 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst, Assassins & Hitmen, Brotherhood, Drama, Exes, Family, First Love, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, Mafia AU, Spies & Secret Agents, long fic but i can promise that i'll try my best to make it worth it, this fic is not only about zhengkun; i try to show enough love to all of the ships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2020-07-06 14:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 82
Words: 222,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19835539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramenree/pseuds/ramenree
Summary: All Zhu Zhengting wants now is to leave everything behind him, and do his own thing with his group of misfits. But when one of his group is taken in by the people he never thought he would see again, he finds that sometimes, you don't get everything you want, and that some bad habits are hard to break.orIn which Zhu Zhengting reconnects by a chance with the man he loved, and Cai Xukun will do anything to make them all feel safe again.





	1. Zhengting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story will be written from ten perspectives. take a guess at who they are...

_“Please.”_

_It was an order, not a question. The light reflected off his eyeballs under the crackling lightbulb above._

_Zhu Zhengting turned, climbed into the car, and closed the door behind him. He put his foot on the gas pedal, and drove away from all he had known in his life._

_Against his better judgement, he glanced in the rear view mirror, only to watch as the building behind him shattered into a million golden stars. The man who had stood in front of it opened his mouth once, before crumbling away into the ground…_

“Zhengting,” a voice roused him, “Zhengting.”

He groggily opened his eyes, meeting another pair filled with concern.

“Did you have another nightmare?” Wenjun’s voice was gentle, before he wrapped his long, skinny arms around his frame.

“Probably.” Zhengting closed his eyes again, leaning into Wenjun’s touch, registering the clammy sweat on his back.

“Just go back to sleep, Zhengzheng,” Wenjun murmured, tucking his head into Zhengting’s shoulder, “We’re all safe. Just sleep.”

Zhengting cracked open an eye. Wenjun was right. They were all safe. That was all he needed.  
Wenjun was snuggled up against his right, arms wrapped around him. Justin was on his other side, back pressed against his hip. He flicked his eyes to the other mattress on the other side of the room. Ding Zeren had been pushed off halfway onto the floor, Li Quanzhe and Fan Chengcheng having stolen the blankets and squished him off. Huang Xinchun was snuggling into his sleeping bag. Chengcheng was snoring peacefully. Zhengting smiled in spite of his racing heart, and closed his eyes.

The next time he opened them, Zeren was tapping his forehead.

“Hey, Zhengting. Wake up. It’s morning, and breakfast is gonna happen in like 5 minutes,” Zeren grinned, “and Justin and Chengcheng are making a mess in the back.”

Zhengting sighed and pushed himself up before stumbling into the kitchen, where Wenjun and Xinchun were stirring pots on the stove.

“Morning,” Xinchun barely glanced up as Zhengting passed them in walking to the front door.

They lived in an abandoned gas station, an ugly thing that they had stumbled through 3 years ago running away from a fate none of them had wanted. It was ramshackle and crumbling away, but Justin had liked it, saying that with half of the world in disorder, this was the best thing they were going to get.

And speaking of Justin, Zhengting heard a high pitched scream of delight soar over the grey morning light.

“HA! Fan Chengcheng! You’re never gonna beat that!”

Zhengting rounded the corner behind the station, only to see Chengcheng whip out his gun and shoot directly into the center of a target stationed 10 meters away. His arm jerked from the recoil, but he was grinning in spite of it. Justin held his gun loosely by his side, mouth open in an exclamation of distaste before catching sight of Zhengting.

“You guys. What did I say about early morning shooting?” Zhengting sighed, rubbing the morning light from his eyes.

“You said that we couldn’t practice shooting. You never said we couldn’t compete against each other.” Chengcheng replied calmly, still gloating at Justin about his perfect shot.

Justin glared at him, before turning back to Zhengting, “Yeah, Ge. You said that we couldn’t practice.”

Zhengting waved his hand in exasperation before turning and returning inside, “breakfast starts soon, you guys should get packed up and inside before I send Zeren out onto you guys.”

Inside, said man was already sitting at their table, a wooden thing that had once served as the gas station counter. He was shovelling rice porridge into his mouth. Zhengting slid in beside him, before Wenjun slid a plate of eggs and bread in front of him.

“What’s the big rush? Last I checked, you don’t like getting up early or eating porridge.”

Zeren wiped his mouth before standing up, “I don’t like it, but I have a job with Quanzhe in thirty minutes, and that idiot didn’t set the alarm correctly.” He pushed his brown hair away from his forehead, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a headband. Huh. Zhengting should have noticed he was dressed in his working clothes. Zeren fastened the headband under his bangs, before stepping away to presumably pack his things. His apparent current mission partner appeared soon after, already dressed and packed, his soft silver hair still damp from showering.

“Hey Zhengting-ge!” Quanzhe propped himself up beside him and smiled.

Zhengting smiled back, “What job are you and Zeren on today? I thought it was tomorrow.”

“Oh, some minister wants us to ambush a group who’s doing some shipping.” He wiggled his eyebrows, “We’ll get a good pay, and I want to eat more cake.”

Zhengting frowned, “Did you check what group you were ambushing? I don’t want to have to deal with more people breathing down our necks.”

Quanzhe furrowed his eyebrows, “Uh, the minister assured us that it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. He just wants us to take out that specific group. He wants the goods they’re shipping or something. They shouldn’t be that big of a problem.”

Zhengting sighed, “Okay. Fine. I trust you, but don’t get carried away. Don’t get hurt or…” He trailed off, before Quanzhe laid a hand on his.

“Don’t worry ge. I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to.” Quanzhe grinned, “Li Quanzhe, the Hamster!”

A voice drawled from the front door, “Yes, yes, Hamster. Would you like to leave anytime soon?” Zeren leaned casually against the glass doors, strapped with guns and knives, boots polished and shiny.

Quanzhe giggled, “Bye Zhengting! See you at dinner!”

And with that, they left. Zhengting groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, before Wenjun laid his hand on his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t worry about them too much. You know just as well as the next person how competent they are.” Wenjun’s voice was careful, a choice of tone Zhengting had to agree with.

“I’m never going to stop worrying, you know.”

“Oh I know. You care a lot. That’s what brought us all here, right?”

Wenjun was smiling gently, the sun streaming onto his handsome features. Zhengting didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

And as Chengcheng and Justin and Xinchun sat down with them to eat, he couldn’t help but think back to a life he had ran away from for the same reason, the face of the boy from his nightmare painted everywhere he looked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> un-beta-ed. pls excuse all the typos ;/
> 
> ahh first fic! i miss ip sm


	2. Yanchen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is gonna be from alot of perspectives, cuz i love everyone. bear with me, and pls lmk if you wanna know more about a certain character or event in the comments! Also, fyi, Yanchen's nickname, Little Flower, translates to Xiao Hua in chinese. He's so cute; I love ZYC.

If you asked Zhou Yanchen what he loved the most in the whole wide world, he would reply, with a glint in his eyes, doing something fun. Zhu Xingjie would probably sigh and whack his head with a heavy blow, before Yanchen would pout and wrestle him to the ground, the blade clamped between his teeth inches away from Xingjie’s throat. 

It was true. Zhou Yanchen liked fun. The more dangerous, the better. Yanchen wasn’t a liar; he usually told the truth, and in this case, he didn’t have any reason not to. 

But at the moment, with Cai Xukun angrily smacking the side of his head with a rolled up paper, he couldn’t help but whine some.

“Xukunnnnn~” He groaned, putting his hands up in mock surrender, “Xukunnnn~ You’re gonna kill meee~” 

Cai Xukun frowned, before smacking him again, “Zhou Yanchen! You stupid, fucking, dipshit-”

“Cute, incredible, amazing, smart-” Yanchen cut across, grinning when he felt the paper whack against him again, “Aw Xukun, why all this? I was just having some fun!”

“FUN?! Do you think storming into one of SM’s bases, knocking out a guard to steal his clothes, and shooting the other one for good measure counts as fun?!”

Yanchen grinned, “Don’t lie Xukun. You’d also think it would be fun. Come on, they were so confused when Xiao Gui fucked with their security system. Made it super easy for me to crack his skull open when he turned around to fix up the control panel.” He wiggled his eyebrows, “He had a nice hoodie on as well.”

Xukun groaned, sinking down into the chair behind his desk, fingers rubbing tiredly at his eyes. In this state, he looked like any other twenty year old, his bleached hair wavy and bright under the light, perfect heart-shaped face accentuating his gorgeous eyes. Okay, scratch that. Xukun would be way more than just normal, having a face like that. His enemies never would think that the same face that had attracted and tempted so many would be the same face they usually saw milliseconds away from their deaths. And they wouldn’t ever think, that such a porcelain, perfect face would be the leader of the entire Retributation assassination group.

“Just be fucking glad that this isn’t the SM agency anymore, and that you can actually get away with doing dumb shit without getting a bullet in your head.”

Yanchen grinned, strode over to mockingly kiss Xukun on the cheek, before leaving the room.

As he trudged down the halls, he thought of what Xukun had said. He wasn’t wrong. He probably would have been dead by now for all the dumb shit he had done. Even back at the agency, Xingjie was the only thing that kept him from doing anything they would care too much about. In fact, now that he thought more about it, he probably should have been killed already if it wasn’t for Zhengting leaving with Justin and Ding Zeren. He still remembered the day that the news had reached him. He had been practicing sniper duty with Wang Ziyi, when he noticed Xukun trudging into the room, face blotchy and red like he had been crying for a long time. He had exchanged a glance with Ziyi, who went over to Xukun and led him out of the room, presumably back to the dorms. He didn’t see either of them for the rest of the day.

Weird thing was, he didn’t see a lot of people for the rest of the day. His trainee group, under the department for training in agent duty and assassination work, was supposed to have seven trainees: himself, his best friend Xingjie, Justin, Zeren, Ziyi, and the aces of the entire agency, Cai Xukun and Zhu Zhengting. But only Xingjie was there for hand to hand combat, and he didn’t see anyone else show up for knife practice. It was only when lunch came around that Ziyi and Xukun showed up and sat next to them.

He had asked what was wrong, and Xukun, eyes not meeting his, had whispered to them that just the night before, Zhengting had run away with Justin and Zeren. 

He still remembered the shock, the gasping, drowning feeling of betrayal. Not because Zhengting had gone against the Agency (they had as much sentiment for it as they might for a misplaced sock), but for leaving without them, and never even mentioning it to any of them. 

Zhu Zhengting. The rumoured Ace of SM Agency, the whispered next head in command, to be Kim Junmyeon, or Suho’s, lead agent and assassin. 

And beside him, Cai Xukun, the other rumoured best of the best. With a nickname of ‘the King’, he was the only person that could stand eye to eye with Zhengting. He was supposed to be his partner. And he was supposed to be part of their team.

He had reacted in anger, driving his knife into the table, shrugged off Xingjie’s weak protests, and had stomped out of the dining room to bury his head under his pillow.

Zhengting. His roomate. The person he thought was his family, had promised him he wouldn’t leave. The resentment and anger had bubbled in his stomach even before he remembered that he took Justin and Zeren with him as well. A new wave of dizzying fury had washed over him.

Yanchen slammed into a stop, torn from his thoughts as he plowed directed into someone’s chest. He blinked his eyes, only to be met with the slightly relaxed, flirty look of Lin Yanjun.

“Yo Yanchen.” Yanjun drawled, his signature smirk painting his pristine features. Yanjun was, by far, the most attractive person in Xukun’s entire group. With an unflinching, smoky look in his eye, and a sharp chiseled face, it was hard to not be intimidated by him at first glance. Yanchen knew him well enough though, and sighed instead of blushing like he had in the first month he knew him.

“Hey, hey, hey. Little Flower. Don’t go sighing on my gorgeous face like that!” Yanjun playfully shook his shoulder, “You’ll mess up your cute face if you frown like that.” Yanchen pretended to puke beside him, earning a slap on the back. He really did hate that nickname.

“Says you Yanjun. Says Mr Gorgeous, our head socialite agent, the sex  _ master _ , the monster of flirtation, the voted most beautiful person in our entire group-”

“Okay okay okay I get it. The handsome part gets old fast. And for the record, Nongnong is even better than me when it comes to getting info and doing assassinations.”

The mentioned Chen Linong was the other half of the deadly Nong-Jun duo. While Yanjun had the face of a supermodel, all sharp angles and sexy expression, Linong, or Nongnong, had the face of an angel. He had a round face, with soft features and perfect skin. And when he smiled, it was like the sun had risen higher into the sky. So cute, so pure, so innocent. Perhaps less so when he drove knives into lusting politician’s necks, sinking them in like butter. Yanchen knew both him and Yanjun well enough and long enough to know that any party they attended, any person that they seduced or were dragged by into bed, would inevitably lead to blood. A lot of it. 

Yanjun stared closely at his eyes, before frowning, “You’re still frowning, Yanchen. Did Kunkun actually tear you down this time?”

Yanchen scoffed, “Nah, I don’t give a shit half the time he’s screaming at me. He loves me. You know that.”

“Nuh-uh. If it weren’t for Xingjie always controlling you, he’d have murdered you a long time ago.”

“Oh shut up,” Yanchen pointed down behind him, “Nongnong and Zhangjing are somewhere down there. I heard them giggling to each other about something Jeffrey did this morning.”

As Yanjun passed him, he smirked, “Yanchen, you’re called Little Flower for a reason. You should go find a boyfriend or something to use that on,”

“Shut the hell up kid. Like you aren’t pining over Zhangjing at every opportunity.”

He rounded the corner of the hallway, leaving a spluttering and indignant Yanjun frozen behind. 

Maybe he was stressed. He  _ was _ usually one of the mood makers of the group. Yanchen knew his friends well enough to know what would rile them up or make them happy. Kind of comes with years of assassin training, but not only that. Yanchen was naturally pretty good at deciphering emotions, and using them to his benefit. He knew all this. 

But he did have to acknowledge, now that he thought about it, that he was tired. Blame it on years of killing people, or just Xiao Gui messing up his nicely made bed in the morning, but recently he had felt as stretched tight as a piece of rope. If it weren’t for Xingjie always being there for him to lean on, he probably would have snapped by now (and done what? More killing to get rid of pent up rage and frustration? Because that was exactly what was causing it in the first place).

He was just about coming to this conclusion when he shuffled through his dorm room. His partner-- and best friend-- Zhu Xingjie was sitting on his bed, Xiao Gui curled up against him to stare at the video game he was playing in his hand. He cleared his throat loudly and leaned against the door frame.

“Get off my bed.”

Xingjie cocked an eyebrow at him, “Hey, Zhou XiaoHua. What’s with the long face?”

“You’re sitting on my bed!” He began, before Xingjie waved his hand in the air.

“Nah, we do that all the time. You’ve gotten used to screeching at us about it.” He slid off the top bunk and walked towards him, “Tell Jie-ge what’s actually bothering you.”

Yanchen didn’t say anything, looking outside the window. He was Zhou Yanchen, one of the most deadly agents of the Retributation! Why the hell was he feeling so mopey?

“Let’s go.”

“Huh?”

Yanchen grabbed Xingjie’s forearm and dragged him out of the dorms, Xiao Gui waving to them as they left. “I said, let’s go.”

“What? Where?”

“Just, somewhere I can go have some fun. How about messing with some trucks I know are shipping oil a couple kilometers away from here? The people in charge of them are weak, and we could mess with them really easily.” He babbled on, strapping a handgun to Xingjie’s chest as he bustled them out. 

Xingjie sighed, “Is it gonna put you in a better mood?” 

Yanchen hummed in appreciation, the thought of possible adrenaline surging through his body improving his spirits. Xingjie sighed again, and allowed himself to be pulled out of their base, into the damp spring air.

Yanchen was a blessed man. He knew this. He was an incredible agent-- smart, resourceful, efficient-- he didn’t need to be told again. He was handsome, the nickname of Little Flower having come around for good reason. He had incredible friends that had replaced the family he never really had. And he was alive, having escaped the SM agency that had locked so many away in literal servitude they weren’t even aware of. He should be glad. 

But even as he laughed in the cool breeze, briskly walking with Xingjie in search of something fun, he couldn’t help but feel that someone, even some _ thing _ , was missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> getting these chapters out of the way. Do u want more backstory and stuff into the agency they escaped, or more into the plot?


	3. Xukun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we love yikun friendship

Cai Xukun groaned for what he thought must have been the 70th time that day, sinking back into his bed. 

“Rough start to the day?” The darkly handsome face of Wang Ziyi appeared over the sideboard of their bunk bed, expressions painted with concern.

“The worst. Yanchen keeps getting himself into trouble.”

Ziyi chuckles at that, “Kun, you say that every single day now.”

“I know! At this rate I’m gonna have to start living in Qin Fen and Han Mubo’s medical wing from all the mini heart attacks he’s been giving me!” He kicks the bottom of the top bunk, “You’re gonna have to be the leader now. I resign. Wang Ziyi will now be the leader of the Retributation.”

Ziyi laughs again, the soothing sound floating around their room. He climbs down the ladder to his top bunk, and lies down beside Xukun in his bed. Xukun turns towards him, eyebrows furrowed in stress and annoyance from the day’s events. 

“Oh Kun,” Ziyi says soothingly, ghosting his fingers across his hair, “You don’t need to worry about everyone. Yanchen is perfectly capable of handling just about any situation, as with the rest of us.”

“I know that! Just, Chaoze got shot last mission, and I think Zhangjing cried for an entire hour before Mubo was able to get him stabilized. I kind of don’t want shit like that happening again!” He threw his hands animatedly into the air, before punching an imaginary Yanchen.

Ziyi waiting patiently for Xukun to finish rambling, before continuing on, “Yes, I know you care for all of us. But sometimes, you worry a bit too much. Like last time, you fussed over Nongnong for a solid thirty minutes before his mission, and Yanjun had to physically drag you away from him so they could leave.” 

Xukun sniffed. Okay Ziyi had a point. He knew better than anyone just how capable every person in the Retributation was. Every single person had skills widely surpassing the average agent or soldier. What they might lack in body mass, they made up in precise skill or unexpected strength. And with each of his agents owning a face that could easily belong to an idol or model, they were deadly when it came to spying or infiltrating info. It had gotten to the point that his group was mockingly called the ‘Pretty Boys Group’. He didn’t mind. He found a sort of perverse pleasure in the fact that each of his enemies would be graced with the sight of a gorgeous face of one of his agents before they met their deaths. 

He turned onto his back, Ziyi draping an arm over his chest. He lay there for a while, thinking about how Ziyi had always helped him like this, comforting him when he was stressed or sad. Even when he felt like he needed to tear out his own throat out, the heavy feeling of Ziyi’s arm across him was enough to, at least for the moment, relax a little.

He could hear the steady tap tap of feet as his team walked past his and Ziyi’s room. He heard Zhangjing’s piping laughter sound somewhere down the hall, and allowed himself to sink back into his thoughts.

He was eleven when he was taken from his family and recruited into SM. Kim Junmyeon had looked him up and down, smiling at how he had thrashed in the much larger guards’ arms, and flicked his fingers to a door on his left. “Put him in Lay’s year. Tell him to start him in assassination,” he smiled, revealing a row of pearly white teeth, “I like this one”.

And with that, Xukun was a trainee. He was grouped into a squad of three more boys, all around the same age as him, all skinny and lean but with glints of fighting power in their eyes. He was told that he was to become an assassin, and eventually have to work as an agent or consigliere or socialite or something stupid like that. Roughly translated, in his years, he was to become a monster.

It took him a while to settle down, to stop looking for a way to bolt at any given opportunity, and relax enough into being around a hundred other dangerous men with guns, and finally acknowledge the other boys in his group.

There was Wang Ziyi, a tall, handsome boy with his hair looped back in a mini ponytail. One of Xukun’s roommate. He had muscles and grit that didn’t seem to match his 13 years, and a hard jaw that flexed every time he fired a shot or bent another boy’s arm behind his back. 

But Xukun soon learned that behind the hard, tough facade, Ziyi was weird. He found out one evening, after a particularly tough day of getting pummelled into boxing mats, when he was curled up in the bathroom of their dorm, face buried into his hands.

Xukun didn’t like to admit weakness. He was tough, his surely dead parents had told him that. And if there was one more thing he could do for them, he would live up to that standard. He had worked hard for the two months he had been at the Agency, and had gained a new ring of muscle around his body. He was improving. 

But sometimes, he would have to come to this bathroom and curl up and quietly shake away the stifling feeling that he was growing up to become a murderer, a monster. 

It was about that time that he was feeling good enough to leave when suddenly, the door swung open. Wang Ziyi stepped into the room, beginning to tug down his pants, before he caught sight of Xukun in the corner, eyes misty and dull to the rest of the world. He stopped, and gently closed the door behind him.

“Hey,” he murmured, bending down next to Xukun, “Xukun. Are you crying?”

Xukun snapped his head up, “I am not! I’m just resting here!”

Ziyi looked into his face, “Okay, I believe you; your eyes aren’t red or anything.”

Xukun looked angrily at him, “Of course I’m not lying! I’m not weak.” He should have known better than to shout at his senior, but it didn’t seem like Ziyi minded. 

“I know you aren’t weak. I train with you and share a room with you, Xukun. I would have figured out by now if you were a softy.”

Xukun snorted, “Thanks for the praise, boss. Aren’t you gonna leave now and go beat someone up again?” He had watched Ziyi loads of times now fighting the other trainees. Never outside of training, of course. They would get in huge trouble if they did. But during monitored fights, he had never seen the boy lose to anyone yet. 

Ziyi smiled gently, “I don’t like beating people up.”

Xukun snorted again, “Sure. Whatever you say Wang Ziyi.”

“I’m serious!” Ziyi protested, drawing nearer to Xukun, “I don’t like a lot of this stuff.”

That surprised Xukun a little. Ziyi, being one of the most talented people in the Agency before he came, always seemed like he was made to do stuff like this. Xukun had heard many jealous whispers from the other boys around him that he had been the one chosen to be his roommate and training partner. That combined with the meticulous attention Ziyi seemed to give when fighting, training, shooting, made him seem like an emotionless killing machine in the making.

“Really?”

“Really.”

The way he said it, the firmness behind it, and the warmth of his body near his own, filled Xukun with a relief of some kind.

He liked that. He liked that a lot.

“Okay.” He grinned, “Now, are you gonna go to the bathroom or what. Your pants are still halfway down your legs, Ziyi.”

Ziyi looked down, flushed red, and pushed a cackling Xukun out of the door before slamming it behind him. 

Later, as he sat down at his bed and pulled his shirt over his head to change, Xukun grinned. Maybe, he didn’t have to be so alone in this place after all. 

After this encounter with Ziyi, it became a lot easier to talk to him. He quickly learned that though Ziyi was cold, arrogant in appearance, underneath he had a gooey, melted heart of gold. Ziyi was easy to talk to, and balanced out Xukun’s fiery temper and terrible attitude with a stableness and serenity that didn’t befit the rumours that flitted around him. Over time, and with Ziyi’s prodding, Xukun gradually befriended the other two boys in his group as well. Zhou Yanchen, the beautiful boy with a fox-like personality and who always seemed to be getting into trouble. And Zhu Xingjie, a serious, careful boy who liked to think his training out before he started and who sang in the shower when he thought no one was listening. Xukun grew to care for them; their dorm, once too noisy and raucous for him, became a fun place to be in, to talk to. And with the growing tension and training beginning to pile up onto him, it was exactly what he needed to not snap at every opportunity. 

A year passed like that, him growing up with his friends, training in the various assassination fields, meeting other people that he maybe considered friends. Run faster, hit harder, shoot straighter, think quicker; he improved fast and hard. Soon, he had become one of the best in the agency, perhaps even better than Ziyi. 

It was when he could shoot a bullet into the head of a dummy without blinking an eye that he had accepted his future and an assassin, and had hardened himself enough to view his training as a benefit rather than a sentence. 

The whispers were about him now, the favoured pupil of their mentor, Zhang Yixing, the best of their entire class of trainees. 

He was gonna survive like this, at the top, without any distractions, staying loyal to the group that he had been forced into.

That is, until Zhengting came along.

He still remembered that day. He was 13, lean and hard, and with eyes as steely and tough as rock. It had been a cold winter morning when their mentor, Yixing, showed up at their dorm late at night, when they were all huddled together on Xingjie’s bed, trying to keep warm. They had all looked up to see Yixing push a new boy into their room.

“This,” Yixing smiled gently, “is Zhu Zhengting. He will be joining your group from now on.”

With that, he left, carefully shutting the door behind them before locking it behind him for the night. 

The first thought Xukun had was a bad one: holy shit, he’s cute. 

The second thought he had was wait, what the fuck am i even thinking.

It became pretty obvious in the first five minutes of Zhengting awkwardly shuffling around the room that Xukun had encountered, perhaps for the first time in his life, a very big threat. That threat came in the form of this new kid’s eyes. When he laid them on Xukun’s face for the first time, he felt like he was looking straight through him. Combine that with just how gorgeous they were in general, dark and sparkling and bright, Xukun felt his stomach flop awkwardly on itself.

“Hey Zhengting!” Yanchen cawed, reaching over to pull the new trainee into a much too awkward hug, “I’m Yanchen! I hope we can get along here!”

Zhengting looked awkwardly across his shoulder, hesitatingly returning his hug, and focused his eyes on Xingjie.

“Oh, uh, I’m Xingjie. You can call be Jie-ge if you want.” Okay maybe Xukun wasn’t the only person intimidated by those eyes.

“Xingjie, you don’t even know if he’s younger than you.” Ziyi tutted, before warmly gazing at Zhengting, “How old are you, kid? I’m Ziyi, by the way.”

Zhengting put his hands behind his back, readjusting himself after Ziyi had pulled Yanchen off him, “I’m… not very sure.”

Yanjun cocked an eyebrow from where he was being pinned down by Ziyi, “Orphan? Not sure about your age? Had to give yourself your own name?” His face lit up in a dazzling smile, “Same here!”

Zhengting smiled for the first time then, the sight making Xukun squirm in his bed before clearing his throat and saying, “Uh, I’m Cai Xukun. It’s nice to meet you.”

Zhengting fixed his doe eyes on him again, gently tilting his head to a side and surveying him before returning his focus to the rest of the group, “I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

He was right. Zhengting brought a sense of power into their group, for reasons unknown to Xukun. The boy was slender, movements more like ribbons and dance rather than the hard, rough movements the rest of them were using. But somehow, he improved fast. Maybe, he had to admit, even faster than Xukun had.

They were running on treadmills one day, just Xukun and Zhengting, a couple of months after Zhengting had been recruited. Xukun, slowing his stride, tore his shirt off and wringed the sweat from it beside him.

Zhengting grimaced, “Ew. Please don’t.”

They had gotten a lot closer in the past weeks, and Xukun had learned that this boy, though a demon during training, was as girlish and squeamish as any flowery-pretty boy. 

“Or what. I do this all the time Zhengting. And we share a bed sometimes.” He said the last part with a small gloat of victory inside. Why? He had no fucking idea.

“You’re so gross Xukun. You sweat like a waterfall.”

“Says you. I saw you go get a towel like four times this morning in combat training for your head.”

Zhengting scowled, Xukun staring at the cute crease that appeared between his eyebrows, “Maybe if you didn’t try to beat the shit out of me all the time when we fight, I wouldn’t have to.”

“Says you again! Last time I checked you almost killed me when you held me in that headlock!”

He grinned, “Okay Mr Ace. You won the fight in the end. Stop moaning about your almost snapped neck.”

Xukun jammed his finger into the stop button, gradually slowing down enough so that he could hop off, “Tell my beautiful face that!” He pointed indignantly at the bruise on his cheek.

Zhengting laughed and hopped off beside him. He grabbed Xukun’s hand and led him over to a stool perched in the corner of the room. Then, he reached into the cooler always stationed in the rooms, and pulled out an ice pack. 

Xukun watched as he gently pressed the bruise, watched his beautiful face smile when he saw Xukun wince. Zhengting gently pressed the ice pack against his cheek, laying his other hand on Xukun’s leg. 

Xukun pressed his eyes shut at the sharp cold, trying to tell himself that he was being stupid, that the fucking pounding in his ears was a side effect from the ice.

“You’re amazing at shit, you know,” Zhengting murmured softly, before pulling Xukun’s hand up to make him hold the ice pack himself.

But as they walked back to their dorm, Xukun, every step watching the limp he had given him from twisting his leg hard in training that morning, knew that, amazing he might be, this boy, with the soft eyes of a doe but the graceful fighting stance of an experienced killer, was maybe something else altogether.


	4. Zeren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a disaster, but zeren is bae

It was a well known fact that Ding Zeren hated driving. He hated the storm of dust that the jeep always made behind them in the dusty road, and he hated the feeling of the machine he was strapped into. 

  


But, no matter what, in no circumstances was he going to let Quanzhe drive their asses to a possible danger ground.

  


“But pleasseeee~” He had begged Zeren, puffing out his cheeks in the cutest way he could. 

  


Zeren had pinched his face and smiled fondly before saying a firm “Definitely not.” If Quanzhe wanted to drive, making a cute face and appearing even less experienced or responsible was not the way to do it, “Now get your butt in the car unless you want me to ditch you and bring Chengcheng or Justin instead.”

  


Which put them in his current situation, driving down a dirt road, dust kicking up into his hair through the glassless windows. Zeren coughed as a particular dirt cloud passed them, before glancing over at Quanzhe’s dozing form beside him. 

  


Hmm. Typical. Even when they were back at SM, Quanzhe was pretty good at sleeping at the worst times. They were literally ten minutes away from their destination, and here was his beloved partner, snoring away at eleven in the morning. Zeren debated whether or not to wake him, before deciding against it and focusing his eyes back in front of him.

  


_ Ah yes. Ding Zeren. Thinking about your SM days again aren’t you? _ He caught himself chuckling again before holding onto the thought,  _ you left those days when you and Justin fucked up that time.  _

  


It really wasn’t a good idea to think back to them. Sure, he had learned basically everything he needed to know from the place, and he had grown to love some of the people there. But after you see your own life being played with like dough in someone else’s hand, you kind of lose the sentiment. 

  


SM was the place that he had started again. After years of prowling on streets, tugging a young Quanzhe around and picking up scraps, they had been caught trying to steal from a truck he thought contained food. 

  


Turns out, it didn’t contain food, but guns. After he had gasped and been caught as a result, they had been brought to the complex he now knew was the SM training agency. Not exactly expected, but welcomed as he knew the other alternative was a knife across his throat. 

  


And there, he had been separated from Quanzhe, the younger boy having been marched through a hall labelled ‘Socialites’, a taller boy with a smile like the sun grasping his hand for comfort.

  


He had been sorted into some hall with a big ASSASSINATION painted over the front. There, he and another boy, whose name was Huang Minghao on his files but who had insisted he call him Justin, were ushered into a room with five other boys. They were told later on that these people would be the rest of his training group. 

  


Fine by him. He had escaped the fate of getting killed, and met Zhengting and Justin in the process. 

  


_ I also met Xukun _ , he thought, adjusting his hands on the wheel,  _ and Xingjie and Ziyi and- _

  


He quickly jarred his thoughts from going further, and focused instead on pulling up behind some rocks.

  


“Hey. Quanzhe!” He shook his friend’s shoulder, “We’re here. Get up.”

  


Quanzhe squinted at the hot sun above him, before lazily stretching himself and propping himself up, “we’re here?”

  


“Yes dipshit. I just said that.” He glanced over at the heard of cars and trucks advancing slowly across the dusty land, “and just in time too.”

  


Quanzhe hopped out of the car, not bother to use the door and tumbling straight through the window. Zeren followed

  


“Okay, so we just need to take out the drivers and guards on each car. Then we leave. Don’t touch anything else, because apparently they can deal with the situation themselves afterwards.”

  


Quanzhe nodded, eyes trained on the front of the procession, “let’s take them from front and back?”

  


Zeren grunted in agreement, wiping his gun on his pant leg, “we’ve done this a thousand times. In three… two… one!”

  


They burst out from behind their hiding place, Zeren sprinting like a gazelle for the truck tailing the procession. He shot at the guard on the right of the truck facing him, and when he saw him tumble onto the road, grasped the handle sticking out of a corner and swung himself onto a ledge. 

  


So maybe he didn’t like to drive. Maybe he hated the dust clouds stinging his face and dirtying his clothes. But if there was one thing he did love about it, it was the feel of the wind whipping through his hair. That rush of excitement that lifted in his stomach as he leaned over the side with one hand on the handle, gun firing into the guard in front of him. 

  


Zeren tucked his leg into the handle then, and pulled himself up on the top of the truck. As expected, there was another soldier there. He fumbled once with his gun before Zeren ended that with a bullet in the chest. He scoffed. Anyone should have known to use better guards, maybe even hire some agents like himself if they wanted to keep their loot safe.

  


But then again, he mused, pressing himself flat against the group as a scourge of bullets flew over him, agents like himself were hard to come by. 

  


With this confidant thought, he pushed forward, stopping only for a second to lean over the side and fire a single bullet through the window and into the driver’s head. First truck down. 

  


He looked up to see Quanzhe leaping to his left, the once second-in-line truck having to pass the now motionless first truck. Which meant that the fourth one, the one Zeren had to go on next, was pulling quickly away. 

  


He leapt off the edge then, grabbing onto any ledge he could find. That was the benefit of having small hands, he could use almost anything as something to grab onto. 

  


Same process. The fourth truck was easily taken care of this time, giving him ample time to leap onto the third truck in line. 

  


As he fought this one, opting to practice his hand to hand combat instead when he saw that his opponent had a knife instead of a gun, he noticed that there seemed to be less fighting than he had thought. He bent the man backwards with his leg before kicking him off the side. That had been a silent kill. No other soldier had appeared to try to shoot him.

  


But was that normal? 

  


He glanced up in front of him, a bit more cautious now. He still had to take care of the driver, and any other people on this truck. But what he saw made his blood run cold. 

  


Quanzhe had just finished in hand-to-hand combat with a soldier, straightening his back as he finished the man beneath him. He was grinning, Zeren could tell. He could also tell, however, that he didn’t know that a sniper was leaning out of a window, fingers milliseconds from pressing down on the trigger that was directed right at him. 

  


He moved like a flash, whipping out his gun and shooting the man in the head before anything could happen. But as he began to let out a breath of relief, he felt the familiar shooting pain of a bullet as it pierced into his right shoulder. 

  


“Zeren!” Quanzhe’s eyes widened in horror as he shot another soldier on the third truck. 

  
  


Another bullet tore through his backside in his brief moment of stalling, the combined pain making him see red.

  


Zeren gritted his teeth, opting for his left instead as he shot back at his attacker, the dull thunk of something hitting the road telling him that he had shot accurate. All the trucks were stopped then, Quanzhe having disposed of the last of the guards. He leapt over the last gap between the trucks to kneel beside Zeren.

  


“Oh shit, Zeren,” he gasped, “are you okay?”

  


“I’m fine. I’m fine!” He swallowed, wincing as the movement sent a cascade of pain through his body. He grabbed at his shoulder, blood quickly seeping through his fingers.

  


“Oh fuck. Oh fuck.” Quanzhe said, “Let’s get back to the jeep. There are bandages there.”

  


Zeren had been shot loads of times before. Rookie mistakes were common back at the Agency, and he had been in enough missions to know what a real bullet tasted like. But for some reason, this time, he couldn’t handle it.

  


As Quanzhe slid down the three meter drop from the top of the truck onto the ground, he tried to follow, only to be met with a blinding pain throughout his entire body. He tried to jump, but stumbled, and fell awkwardly instead.

  


_ Nice, Zeren.  _ He thought, before he felt Quanzhe’s grabby fingers yank him onto his left. 

  


“Oh god Zeren. Don’t black out on me now. You’re fucking heavy, just gimme a second.”

  


He wanted to tell him to calm down, they had both been shot before. But this time, only a mixture of blood and saliva coursed past his lips.

  


Quanzhe yelled, dashing back to the jeep before returning to Zeren, bandages tumbling out of his arms in his hurry.

  


It was then that Zeren’s vision began to twist on itself. The red was back again, folding onto the dust he got in his eyes. He felt Quanzhe’s hands rip open his jacket, registered his panicked voice as he cut open his shirt.

  


But then, somehow, he felt a different pair of hands tear Quanzhe away from him. He felt another pair clamp down on him, lifting his face to meet the sky.

  


One last time, he blinked his eyes hard to get rid of the red tainting his vision, only to have them meet the devilishly attractive face of Zhou Yanchen peering anxiously down at him.

  


_ He looks like a fucking angel _ , he thought lazily, before blacking out altogether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oOOoooOOOOoo... yanren?


	5. Yanchen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more so a filler chapter

Yanchen frowned down at Zeren, whose eyes had lost focus like someone going into shock or just blacking out. He slapped him hard around the head once to keep him awake, before scooping him up in his arms and dashing back to where Xingjie stood, calming a gasping Quanzhe. 

“Ah fuck. We didn’t bring the car.” Yanchen groaned at them, “I knew we shouldn't have walked. Fuck.”

Quanzhe roused himself, “We have the jeep right over there, behind those rocks!” Yanchen’s gaze followed his outstretched arm to see the grey vehicle hidden behind some tall boulders.

“Let’s go then,” Xingjie was calm as ever, composed like he had always been. Yanchen on the other hand, didn’t feel the same way. As he slid into the back seat of the jeep, Zeren’s limp form still draped over his arms, he felt the sticky, hot blood seep into his shirt. 

Nice. How nice everything seemed to be. He hadn’t even recognized them at first from afar. Quanzhe had a mop of silvery hair now, and Zeren? Well, he looked so different now that it took him a couple of hard blinks before he recognized him.

Maybe he only recognized them when he heard Zeren shout, his bright voice cutting through the sounds of gunshots and car revving. 

“Xingjie!” He had said, eyes widening, “Is that…? Is that!”

He didn’t need an answer. He sprinted for the trucks, whipping his gun out from inside his jacket. With two shots, he finished off the driver for the truck Zeren was on, and continued to run for them. 

They had only gotten there when the fight was over, and Quanzhe was trying to peel Zeren’s blood-soaked shirt away from his torso. Yanchen had grabbed him then, leading to how he presently was cradling the boy in his arms.

Xingjie whistled once as he drove fast across the plains, “So, fancy meeting you guys in this situation.”

Quanzhe sniffled, “wow, that’s a lot of sentiment Xingjie, even for you.”

Xingjie laughed at the sarcasm dripping from his words before grinning, “I mean, it’s not bad. Just look at Yanchen. So shocked and delighted at seeing you guys that he can’t even talk!”

Yanchen roused himself then, jolting his downcast eyes away from Zeren’s glassy face, and snarling, “I am not! I’m just really fucking worried about our friend with two bullets inside of him!” 

Xingjie grinned again, “yeah, basically what I just said. What do you think, Quanzhe?”

“You’re not wrong.”

“Hey!” Yanchen exclaimed in protest, before focusing his eyes back on Zeren.

Okay, maybe it was weird, and maybe it was kind of creepy, but looking at Zeren, his little brother, the boy who had run away with Zhengting all those years ago, he felt a jolt pass through his spine. 

_ Jesus Christ,  _ he thought,  _ is this a glow up or what? _

Zeren had been a kid basically when he saw him last, too many bones, with a much too pointy face, and stringy, dead hair flopping around on his head. But now, his once black hair was dyed to a sharp brown, and the accents on his face chiseled and  _ interesting. _

As he dragged his hand across his unhurt arm, he felt the ridge of muscles under them with a gulp. 

_ Glow up indeed. _

Xingjie looked at him in the mirror, “Yanchen, stop drooling over our little brother.”

Quanzhe gasped, “Yanchen-ge! Are you really-”

“No, no, no!” Yanchen snapped. He softened his words when he saw Quanzhe slink back a little. Right. He forgot. This was Quanzhe. “You should tell me what you guys have been up to. It’s been a couple years since we last met, and you look like an old man now!” he teased.

Quanzhe balked, “I do not! Wenjun just thought that I would look nice with white hair!”

Xingjie frowned, “Who’s Wenjun?”

“Oh right…” Quanzhe fumbled around, trying to look for a place to start, “He’s kind of part of our group now.”

“Group, huh.” Xingjie said, “You and Zeren?”

“Yeah. Uh, and this boy named Xinchun.” Xingjie cocked an eyebrow. “And Justin.” Quanzhe paused, “And Zhengting.” 

Yanchen let the silence fall around them then, unsure of what to say. He had swallowed up his anger at Zhengting a long time ago, when he heard of why he had to leave with the two little ones in their group and a meek Quanzhe. Xukun never wanted to talk too much about it, but it was something along the lines of Zeren and Justin seeing something they shouldn’t have, and Quanzhe being part of a greater scheme he never wanted to be part of. 

“Well,” he heard his own voice, “What matters now is that we get you safe.”

He could feel Quanzhe bristle, “Oh god Yanchen. Are we going back to SM? If we are, you might as well just dump us here. You can dump us in the middle of the wasteland and we would be happier than if you brought us back.”

Xingjie laughed, “No, no Quanzhe. We left that a long, long time ago.”

“Then where the hell are you taking us?”

The jeep at that moment, pulled conveniently to the side of their base.

“Where are we?” Quanzhe faltered a bit, “This is huge!”

Yanchen looked up at the base that had housed him and his friends for the past three years. “Where are we?” he echoed.

Xingjie finished for him, “We’re home.”

At that moment, a very worried Qin Fen burst through the side door, an equally worried Wang Ziyi trailing him. 

“We saw your car from yards away!” Fen exclaimed, “Yanchen, is that blood on you?”

Yanchen grimaced, “Yes, but not from me.” He climbed out of the car, a limp Zeren hanging soaked with blood from his arms. 

Qin Fen gasped, Ziyi’s eyes widening before quickly regaining himself and ordering, “Yanchen, take him inside right now. Fen, get Mubo and yourself ready to help him.”

Qin Fen nodded and rushed inside. As Yanchen followed him, he couldn’t help but glance back once more to see Ziyi frown down at a shocked Quanzhe.

“And you. You have a crap ton of explaining to do.”


	6. Zhengting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might not be able to update as frequently, but I'll try. I'm a couple chapters ahead of this one, and i'm having a breakdown trying to decide if i want more justin, zeren, or yanjun perspective ;p

Zhengting had always been a worrier. Even when he was back at SM, he was always careful when doing anything, calculating the exact moment he should kick, flip, run. 

So when he heard Quanzhe’s voice over the phone, gasping with tears, to tell him that Zeren had been shot, and that they were now with Yanchen-ge and Ziyi-ge, and to please, _please_ , come for them, he felt himself freeze over in a glazed sort of terror.

Justin must have noticed him clam up, because he sprinted for the chair he was sitting in, and grabbed the phone away from his ear. Zhengting saw his eyes widen for a second, before carefully listening to whatever was being said on the other line.

He still felt clammed up when he wiped the cold sweat away from his forehead, and yelled at everyone to pack up and get in the jeep, before Wenjun gently reminded him that Zeren and Quanzhe had taken the car in the morning. 

He was just about to scream out some curse words of choice, when in the distance, he saw a sleek vehicle kick up the dust behind it. 

Xinchun ran towards it, waving his arms. The car(?) pulled up, and a figure stepped out of the front door. 

Zhengting froze. Zhu Xingjie? Quanzhe had mentioned Yanchen and Ziyi, but hadn’t mentioned Xingjie. But then again, where Yanchen was, Xingjie was bound to be. And if Ziyi was also thrown into that mix…

He pushed the thought away before watching Xingjie stride over to him. He hadn’t seen the man in years. Where he was once soft and pale, now was bulging with muscles and scars. The look in his eyes had hardened, leaving a rough, defiant gaze accented by dark eyeshadow. 

Zhengting wasn’t sure what to do. Was it too awkward to hug him now like he used to do? Would it be wrong to not do anything? Could he still call him Jie-ge like how Xingjie had asked him to on their first meeting?

All of these thoughts, however, were dispelled when Xingjie pulled him into a bone crushing hug. He swallowed thickly, hot tears stinging the corners of his vision, only to feel Xingjie’s hands clutch up and down his back. Justin was there suddenly, wrapping his arms around both of them, sobbing down onto the crook of Xingjie’s neck.

Their reunion was hot and wet, and when he finally pulled away, he saw Xingjie’s wet eyes crinkling into a smile. 

“So, Zhengting,” he smirked, “how come it took one of the kids almost losing his life for us to find you again?”

The reminder that Zeren was somewhere out there, lying unconscious to the world on a sterile white table and, according to Xingjie’s words, fighting for his life, jarred Zhengting back to a state of panic.

“Oh my god. Zeren-”

Xingjie cut across him, “Later. Get in the car first.”

They all piled in then, Chengcheng pressed into his left and Xinchun jammed to his right. Wenjun awkwardly adjusted his limbs under the too low ceiling, before Xingjie stepped on the gas pedal and they, quite literally, shot away from the gas station. 

After a couple of moments of silence, Zhengting started again, “Zeren?”

“Ah, yes. The kid got himself shot twice in the shoulder and the back. Yanchen and I got there just in time to grab him and Quanzhe.” He glanced back at them, at Zhengting’s striken face, “Don’t worry, Mubo and Fen are more than capable. You know that.”

Zhengting nodded stiffly, clammy hands sliding up and down Chengcheng’s leg.

“Ting, you’ve seen more than a thousand people get shot now,” He wiggled his eyebrows, “and most of them didn’t end pretty. Just think of this the same way.”

“Xingjie! That’s my kid!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. If you were shot in front of me I’d be like you too, but take your mind off it. In fact, Quanzhe did a pretty shitty job explaining about all of you. Tell me what the hell you guys have been up to.”

“Wait, Jie-ge” Justin interrupted, “How did you get here so fact? Our car would have taken _hours_.”

“Oh, this thing is something Zhangjing and Jeffrey hooked up recently. Goes twenty times faster than a regular car. Nice emergency vehicle.”

“Zhangjing?! Like, _You Zhangjing_?”

“Yeah, I’ll explain that later. Tell me about you guys first.” He flickered his eyes to his side, where Wenjun was sitting “For instance, who are you?”

“This is Wenjun,” Zhengting explained, “He was a med school student before we found him a couple years back. Pretty fricking smart.” He gestured to Xinchun on his side, “This is Xinchun. He’s into hacking and tech and stuff like that, so we brought him along as well.”

“And this,” said Justin, pointing at Chengcheng, “is Fan Chengcheng, the former Ace of JYP.”

Xingjie raised his eyebrows, “JYP, huh.”

Zhengting glanced over at Chengcheng, who nodded slightly.

JYP was almost like the sister company of SM, both huge, hulking agencies in Asia that pumped out agents and assassins on an annual basis. Chengcheng had been a trainee at JYP, before he wasn’t.

He still remembered his first encounter with the boy, when Justin had crashed through their door with a bloody Chengcheng slung over his back. The kid had lost so much blood and had been so weak and tired then that Zhengting thought he was unconscious. Except he wasn’t. Gritted his teeth even when Zhengting took the bullets out of his legs. It was something that Zhengting had always found interesting with Chengcheng: he never succumbed to an injury, always biting down hard on his lips if he felt himself drifting, as if he was trying to punch death in the face himself when it tried to come for him.

“Yup.” Zhengting finished for him, “Chengcheng was the Ace.” He ruffled the boy’s head fondly, watching as he relaxed under his touch, “We’ve just been doing our own thing, you know. Taking up private jobs and scraping by month to month.”

“Hmm…” Xingjie hummed thoughtfully, “That’s not exactly what I expected, but knowing you, you do a bunch of shit I wouldn’t understand.” He lifted one hand off the wheel and laid it on the armrest, “Oh, by the way, to those of you that don’t know me, I’m Zhu Xingjie. I’m a head agent of the Retributation, and was part of Zhengting, Justin, and Zeren’s training group back at SM.” 

“What’s the Retributation?” Chengcheng asked, as the car made a sharp turn into a more concrete driveway.

“Talk later. We’re here.” He looked at Zhengting closely, “And _you_ better get yourself prepped up before you go in.”

Zhengting sucked in a breath, “We’re only gonna stay here to check on Zeren. We don’t need to see anyone else.”

Xingjie smiled, “That’s only if you get lucky.”

“Who can’t he see?” Xinchun wondered out loud.

Zhengting felt his chest clutch helplessly on himself as he briefly ignored the question. He looked outside the window instead, at the large complex that definitely once served as a mansion to some rich politician or spoiled kid. 

He didn’t answer the question in the end, but he didn’t need to. Xingjie finished the thought for him.

“Cai Xukun.”


	7. Justin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i might rewrite this chapter cuz i hate it. i promise the next couple of chapters are gonna be alot more emotional, not these dumb filler chapters

Justin watched as Zhengting, clenching and unclenching his jaw, climbed out of Xingjie’s car. His leader (more so mom at this point) was really fucking nervous, he could tell that at least.

And why wouldn’t he be? Justin’s heartbeat had been pounding in his ears ever since Xingjie had stepped out of that car. Even before, when Wenjun had told him that Zeren had been shot and rescued by _ Zhou Yanchen _ of all people… 

But that was nothing, probably, when compared to whatever Zhengting was feeling. He watched as he wiped his hands on his pants, swallowing thickly. Being one of the most skilled-- probably THE most skilled-- assassins he knew, this wasn’t a common sight. He had seen plenty of Zhengting shooting someone’s brains out, garotting people with wires, breaking arms. But he had barely ever seen him in this state, the last time maybe being when he had dragged him and Zeren and Quanzhe away from the Agency, all those years ago. Zhengting was known for his cool, unflinching demeanor during their work, not for the nervous, twitchy state he was in now.

Justin strode over, pulling him into a loose back hug, “Ge. Are you nervous?”

Zhengting’s hands came up to clasp Justin’s, “A little.”

Ha. Liar. Justin could feel his heart racing underneath his fingertips, “Whatever.”

“We’re just here for Zeren, remember,” Chengcheng reminded gently, tapping Zhengting’s shoulder, “Not for… whatever other friends you have in this place.”

It was at this moment that Xingjie cleared his throat, rather loudly, “Are you guys gonna come in or what? The others are probably gonna be thrilled to see you guys.”

Justin looked up at the hulking building above them, “Did you buy this Xingjie?”

He scoffed, “Are you joking? Ziyi got this after an  _ accidental _ run in with some unfortunate, crooked higher-ups. There’s no way in hell we could’ve gotten this any other way.”

“Thought so as much,” Justin muttered, before grinning, “You still look like huba, by the way.”

“I do not!” the huba cried indignantly. He yanked Justin under his arms in a headlock and tickled him mercilessly, “I dare you to say that again!”

Justin screamed with delight, chest filling with the warmth and stability that had always came with Xingjie. 

“Are we gonna go in then? Zhengting looks like he’s gonna pop open if we don’t check on Zeren soon,” Chengcheng’s slightly annoyed voice ruined the moment.

“Ah yes. Let’s go.”

Xingjie scanned his left thumb on some box thing beside the side door they stood in front of, before pulling it open and gesturing for the rest of them inside.

As Justin walked through the low doorway, he felt Chengcheng’s fingers slide around his, “We’re gonna be okay, Tin?” Justin squeezed his hand back as response. 

The first thing they encountered, even before he had time to register his surroundings, was a dark figure sprinting towards them. Justin barely had time to raise his arms in defense before the figure crushed him into a bone-crunching hug.

“Huang Minghao!” Chen Linong was as bright and sunny as always, his signature sunshine smile plastered across his face. He held Justin an arms length away from him, flicking his eyes up and down his frame, “You’ve grown!”

“Nong _ nong _ !” Zhengting came up next, before also getting pulled into Linong’s arms. If there was another thing that hadn’t changed with Nongnong, it was the strength he didn’t seem to be aware of. Justin was sure he heard his back crack when Nongnong had hugged him earlier.

“Christ, I missed you guys.” Nongnong stepped back, before turning and stepping further down the halls. They followed him, listening to the sharp clack as Xingjie relocked the door.

“We missed you too, Nong!” Zhengting said brightly, before quickly transitioning into an introduction of Chengcheng, Xinchun, and Wenjun. 

As they talked, they strode through a long, dimly lit hall. Wide doors plastered the sides, some open, some jammed shut. Justin caught sight of a table of computers and monitors in one, a counter with various pills and dried grasses in another. He turned his head back, only to be met with Chengcheng staring straight ahead him, obviously slightly uncomfortable by the unfamiliar people and environment. Justin took his hand again, slowing his pace and tucking his head into his shoulder.

He adored Cheng. That was a given. The boy’s long, gangly arms were perfect to throw himself to, and his chest was a good place for Justin to lay his head down on if he was tired or maybe just wanted to annoy him. 

Chengcheng looked down at him with a brief ‘thank you’ in his eyes, before Nongnong was addressing them again, having finished his talk with Zhengting.

“So just around here is gonna be the medical wing.” As he said it, they turned a corner and were met with two tall, lanky soldiers standing guard at a double door. 

“Bufan! Yue Yue!” Zhengting was on them in a second, reaching up to Bufan’s ridiculous height and ruffling his hair. They laughed and grabbed his hands before pulling him and Justin into an embrace.

After a quick introduction and some hellos all around, Yue Yue turned to Zhengting, “I hate to break up this moment we’re having here, but I can’t let you inside.”

“What?!” Justin felt his mouth moving before his brain caught up with it, “We came all the way here to see Zeren and Quanzhe!”

“Yes, but… “ He looked uncertain, “Fen said that Zeren and Quanzhe were recovering, and that letting too many in at once would easily overwhelm them. Especially Zeren. He’s still unconscious to my knowledge.”

Justin sucked in a breath before leaning back onto Chengcheng. The taller boy gave his hand a squeeze.

Zhengting wasn’t smiling, “Yue Minghui. I love you, and I love Bufan as well. But if you don’t let me in this door, I might have to break it down.”

“Hey, hey!’” Nongnong spluttered. It was funny, Justin thought. Even after so many years of not seeing each other, they still remembered how stupidly stubborn and skilled Zhengting could be. Justin could see real alarm in Nongnong’s eyes, reminding himself that Zhengting had been the fucking  _ Ace  _ of the entire SM agency before all of this. Really contrasted with the whiny, mom-like attitude he had at home. 

_ Home. _

_ *** _

Justin left the only home he knew when he was fourteen, having been roughly shaken awake by a very panicked Zhengting. He remembered lashing out, fist almost colliding with Zhengting’s cheekbone before Zhengting caught his wrist in midair and peered down at him. 

“Huang Minghao!” he hissed. 

“Yah, ge. I told you to call me Justin!” he muttered, wincing when Zhengting twisted his arm. It must have been sometime after midnight; their dorm was pitch black, and he could hear the soft puffs Ziyi made when he was sleeping. He frowned, squinting hard and opening his mouth to say something biting when he saw the actual  _ fear  _ in Zhengting’s eyes. 

He had  _ never  _ seen him like this before. Zhengting, in his mind, didn’t know what to be scared meant. This revelation told Justin to shoot up from his bed into a sitting position, eyes wide now.

“What.” 

“Justin. We have to get out of here.” 

“Huh? Why?”

“That mission you and Zeren went on.” Justin squinted, recalling the day’s events. They had been sent out on a tester mission, something to hone their trainee skills in a more legitimate way.

“What about it?”

“Those names you guys saw.” Justin recalls seeing a list of names on the desk of the person they had been told to knock out. Nothing too interesting. Just a list of some of the trainees in the agency. Justin had mentioned it to Zhengting and Xukun later on in the night, remarking that they were probably making a list of the trainees that would need new uniforms or something. Xukun had laughed, and Zhengting had raised an eyebrow before asking him more about his mission.

“They aren’t for uniforms, Justin.” 

“Christ, Zhengting. You can stop with the suspense and tell me what’s up now!”

“Justin, that was a list of the trainees they thought were useless. They’re probably gonna  _ kill  _ them or something.”

“What? How’d you find this out?”

“I stayed around the people who had cleaned up after you guys after your mission and overheard some senior agent tell them about it.”

“So what? I kill, you kill. What’s the big deal.”

“Justin!  _ Quanzhe  _ was on that list!” Zeren’s harsh whisper cut through the darkness, somewhere off to his right.

Justin froze. Zeren went on, “And we saw that list. That means that we’re automatically top on their kill list too!”

A brief pause.

“Do you think they saw?” Justin was whispering as well now.

“Does it matter? There were cameras in that room! It’s just a matter of time before they check the security footage and realize that we had seen it!”

“And  _ Quanzhe _ , Justin! What are we gonna do with Quanzhe?”

“So what are we gonna do now?” Justin whispered furiously, “We can’t just leave!”

“In fact, that’s exactly the plan right now.”

“What?!”

“Justin get your fat ass out of the bed and let’s go!”

“But Yanchen-ge, Jie-ge, Ziyi, Kun-ge-”

“They’ll understand. We have to  _ leave _ .”

“Okay, but do you have a plan? The doors are always locked after lights out!” 

Zhengting watched him putting on his sweater, a ghost of a smile flickering on his face, “Justin, I’m not the Ace of this place for any old reason.”

“Fine, fine. Remind me why you’re coming with us again? Isn’t this a Zeren-Justin-Quanzhe thing?” He tried to make it sound cool, but the words came out more hollow than he expected. 

What Zhengting said next shut him up, “Does there have to be a reason?” He looked at him and Zeren wistfully, a storm of emotions swirling in his eyes, before roughly ushering out the somehow unlocked door. Justin looked behind one last time, taking in the forms huddled on the bed-- Yanchen’s curled up form, Ziyi’s puffs of air-- before Zhengting was shutting the door behind him.

“Let’s go get Quanzhe.”

***

A booming voice came from behind their little group.

“Zhu Zhengting. Huang Minghao. I sort of expected to see you guys around here when Yanchen came screaming through the halls, dragging Zeren and Quanzhe through my doors.”

“Stupid as ever, Mubo,” Zhengting snapped. Despite his harsh tone, he hugged him, before saying seriously, “Han Mubo, you’re gonna have to let me see my kids if you don’t want me to pin you to this wall.”

“That’s my boyfriend, so you won’t be doing that.” Qin Fen seemed to appear from nowhere, startling Justin enough to step on Chengcheng’s foot. 

“Ha ha. Qin Fen. Nice to see you too. Now let me see my kids.”

“What a great reunion this is.” Qin Fen wiped at his eye in mock sadness, before nodding to Yue Yue and Bufan, “Let them in. I really don’t want a knife in my back the next time I turn around from Zhengting.”

The doors slid open, and Justin sprinted forward, dropping Cheng’s hands.

“Jeez! Slow down Justin! This is a medical wing!”

He registered Chengcheng running next to him, slightly pleased that at least someone else felt the same way he did. 

He smelled Zeren before he saw him, the tang of blood and antiseptic invading his nose before he reached the end of the beds and peered around the curtain. Zeren was sleeping peacefully under white linen sheets, the top of his torso bandaged with cloth. He opened his mouth to suck in a breath, before flickering his eyes up and noticing the figure sitting on the stool beside the bed.

“Yanchen-ge!” He was on him in less than a second, mashing his face into his chest.

Yanchen laughed, “Justin!” He picked Justin up and did a couple of squats before setting him down again, “You’re so big now!”

Justin giggled, punching Yanchen lightly on the shoulder, “and you’re  _ much _ uglier, ge.” Zhengting and the rest of the group chose that time to show up, collectively letting out a sigh of relief when seeing Zeren breathing peacefully, before gaping at Yanchen.

“What?!” Yanchen protested at a grinning Justin, as he pulled Zhengting into his arms, “I’m gorgeous!”

“Pretty boy indeed,” Zhengting said smiling, before peering anxiously down at Zeren’s tranquil face, “How did you find him?”

“Saw him a mile away, falling off a truck,” Yanchen winced, “Had two bullets in his shoulder and back. Lost a shit ton of blood. Probably would’ve ended up much worse if Qin Fen and Mubo didn’t get to him in time.”

“And you,” Zhengting reminded him. He held one of Yanchen’s hands in both of his, “Thank you for saving my kid.”

Yanchen scoffed, pretending to puke beside the bed, “Gross, Zhengting. Did you expect me to leave him behind? He’s  _ my _ kid too, remember.”

“Zhou Yanchen! I’m giving you a genuine thank you and this is what I get in return?!” He continued to playfully punch him with one hand, the other gently stroking Zeren’s hair. The brief movements didn’t go unnoticed by Yanchen; Justin looked up just in time to see him dart his eyes towards the soft caresses. 

Hmm. Interesting. 

Now that he had seen Zeren in a stabilized, albeit sleeping, state, he felt it in himself to let go of some of the tension. He turned back from the bed to see Wenjun and Xinchun sitting at the foot of the bed, serenely observing Zhengting’s play fight with Yanchen. Nongnong and Xingjie were laughingly trying to break them up, no doubt elated to be reunited with them. Justin grinned in spite of himself, before catching a view of him, slightly blended into the shadow the medical curtain around Zeren’s bed cast onto the wall.

Chengcheng was standing against the wall, awkwardly crossing his arms across his chest. Leave it to Chengcheng to feel awkward in a family reunion type situation. Justin raised his eyebrows at him, pleased when he caught on and walked around the bed towards him. 

As he felt Cheng’s chest lean into him he remembered something.

“Hey Yanchen, where’s Quanzhe?”

Before Yanchen could even open his mouth, another voice boomed from the doorway, “Nice to see that you’ve caught up with us after all these years.” 

Justin felt a chill run through his body hearing it, the sound itself familiar, but the icy tone biting and accusatory. He looked up at Zhengting, whose face was strangely stony and hard, eyes unblinking in the way he usually looked in the concentrated minutes before a kill.

At the icily impassive face of Cai Xukun. 

  
  
  
  
  



	8. Xukun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls love dis chapter; i loved it ;-;

Xukun could never really say that he was lonely. 

Sure, he was torn from a family that loved him and who he would miss dearly whenever he had the time to think about them. 

Sure, he had to constantly be looking over his shoulder at people’s intentions, the meaning of their words, whether or not they wanted to suck him off or stick glass shards into him.

Sure, he probably only had three real friends in the whole world.

But when you’ve been told for most of your life that your sole mission was to train harder and kill faster, you grow to realize that there are more important things than thinking about loneliness and emotions and sadness. Emotions lead to attachments lead to heartbreak lead to distraction lead to a knife in the throat.

But when Zhengting came to the Agency, all that went out of the window.

Of course, he loved the few people he could be sure were always going to be on his side, the boys that he had trusted to contain the few parts of Xukun that weren’t so confidant, weren’t so perfect. Xingjie was a rock to hold on when times were tough, when training caused the stitches on his feet and arms to shift and tear themselves open, one after another. Yanchen was a refreshing breeze to make him laugh and do dumb things he supposed a normal teenager would want to do. And Ziyi? Well, he didn’t even have to talk about Ziyi. He was happy to be alone with them, trusting them with parts of himself he didn’t even trust himself to keep safe.

But again, after Zhengting came, all of that seemed to change.

Looking at Zhengting always sent thrills of fierce competitiveness rushing down his spine and fireworks exploding in his stomach. The boy was somehow naturally gifted at this messed up art of killing, his graceful moves beautiful but utterly deadly. 

Xukun could have torn his hair out from the competition the other trainees made about them. The whispers of how Xukun’s rough, powerful movements contrasted so jarringly against Zhengting’s fluid, precise dance. Perhaps he would have. Zhengting improved so fast in his first months in the agency, he quickly caught up to what had taken Xukun years to do. In theory, he should have been angry, even jealous.

But what always messed that up was how Zhengting really  _ was _ .

He cheered Xukun on when he landed a kick on his opponents. He smiled at him unflinchingly when Xukun raised a knife against his throat. He winked at him before firing each perfect shot. He bent Xukun’s body around his when they fought each other, animalistic and pure. 

It was probably even better, really, this so called competition. Because with each step Zhengting made towards one direction, Xukun pushed himself even harder to achieve it. They ran laps around the common gymnasium like that, each pace matching each other, step for step, leap for leap.

Xukun always felt himself staring, wondering just how this boy could be like this. So malleable, yet hard, yet sure. He felt himself wondering, even wishing, that maybe, somewhere deep inside of him, that he wanted to be like Zhengting.

But when a year passed and Zhengting looped his arm easily around his shoulders after a rough martial arts fight, Xukun felt himself thinking instead, that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to be like him. 

Maybe he just wanted him.

This revelation seemed to spur him on in the next few months. He wasn’t sure why, but perhaps it was the fact that Zhengting always seemed to glow a bit more after they had jointly taken another step down the road, doe eyes sparkling and soft white skin reflecting the off the light of the dimly lit training centers. 

Of course he didn’t let it distract him. Like he said, emotions lead to attachments lead to heartbreak lead to distractions lead to death. But now that Zhengting seemed to have permanently welded himself into a place in Xukun’s mind, it became harder and harder for him to push the thoughts away every morning. 

On their first mission together, after Yixing had called both of them to his office to tell them that due to them being the best trainees of the entire bunch, they were going to be sent on their first official mission, he was met with the full force of these thoughts. The task was simple: infiltrate the lair of a well-known drug dealer of the nearby city, exterminate the people inside, and report back to the Agency so that they could take control of it. Nice and straightforward. The perfect first test for budding assassins. 

He and Zhengting had been dressed in the dark garments of an assassin, makeup touched up to send shadows swooping across his face when he tilted his head downwards. He checked himself out in the mirrors of the changing room, admitting to himself that he could get used to how he looked at the moment.

“You look incredible,” Zhengting placed a hand solemnly on his shoulder, eyes smokey and promising death, “The ‘I’m gonna kill a man’ look is working pretty well.”

Xukun had to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent his sharp intake of breath, desperately trying to calm the coils of heat forming in the pit of his abdomen. Sure. He looked pretty damn good, he could say so himself. But  _ Zhengting _ . He would be lying to say that he didn’t think he looked amazing. The dark eyeshadow smeared around his eyes made them look even more mysterious and alluring than usual, and greatly highlighted the glint of malice hidden in them. This, coupled with his creamy pale skin and wavy black hair falling over his eyes was enough to drive anyone crazy. Xukun gulped carefully, eyes darting down for a millisecond only to (unhelpfully) notice how the dark cargo pants perfectly accentuated the curve of his hips.

“Are you nervous?” The question jarred him from the moment, sending Xukun’s eyes to focus back on his face.

“Me? To be honest, not really.”

“Me neither. Should I be worried that I’m not bothered at all to risk my life to slaughter an entire brothel of druggies?”

The way he said it, the elegantly arrogant way he tilted his head, made Xukun grin. “Well, if you do feel fucked up about that, just know that I’m just as messed up as you are.”

“Hmm.” He gave a light hum, before tightening a strap on Xukun’s shoulder, “We should leave soon. It’s getting dark.”

“Am I driving?”

“Only if you want to.”

They walked side by side to the doorway to where their car was waiting, both silent now, anticipating the night ahead of them.

To say that what happened later on was exciting was an understatement. Xukun finally knew what Yixing had been trying to get through them all these years, as he and Zhengting took down one guard at the door with a sleep-inducing dart, and the other with a quick twist of the neck. The sheer adrenaline, and, at one moment, when he drove a knife into the side of some poor kid’s head, bloodlust, was enough to show what being a trained assassin really meant. But it wasn’t until they encountered a group of people, all bearing guns and knives and clubs, that he really felt his heart pick up. 

As he shot and slashed and kicked at the people, he became aware of the constant force pressing against his back, solid and stable yet fluid. He felt himself bending around it, back to back, as they faced outwards at the faceless people they had to destroy. It was perfect, almost, how Zhengting’s back molded into his, how his legs seem to support his at just the right moment, how he twisted him back seconds before a blade could pierce him. 

They were liquid, they were fluid, they were  _ art _ .

And he knew this for certain, at the end, when Zhengting looked at him, eyes on fire and sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. He knew it for sure when he walked over to him, hard gaze sweeping hungrily up and down his own face. He felt two hands cup his face, before he felt the pressure of Zhengting’s lips, hot and heavy, on his. 

It was intoxicating, how Zhengting swiped his bottom lip with his tongue, all the while with fresh blood seeping down his hands onto Xukun’s collarbone. He didn’t think he really cared; it was fucked up, but maybe both of them were so far gone that nothing really mattered except for the slow sway of their two bodies wrapped around each other. 

It was only when they finally broke apart, a strand of saliva still connecting their panting mouths, that Xukun found it in himself to look up, grin, and say, “Congratulations.”

Zhengting giggled, hand coming up to touch his bright pink lips, “And you. Congratulations on your first completed mission Kun.”

“Welcome to-”

“-the life of an assassin.” He completed it for him, like, as Xukun suspected, he always had.

When Zhengting came into his life, he brought grit and spark and sweeping eyes and stinging sweat and sweet lips and soft skin. He bent himself into a million shapes and poured himself into Xukun, filling up all the gaps between the jagged edges he didn’t even know he had. 

Which is why it felt like something close to a heartbreak when he saw him that late summer night, duffel bag swung over his shoulder bulging with guns and loose bills, three other skinny boys hanging off his arms, and Zhengting told him that they needed to say goodbye.

***

Xukun kept his face unmoving, mirroring Zhengting’s stony expression as they stared at each other. 

_ He still has that fire in his eyes _ he thought, admiring how the boy still never wavered from his icy glare. Somewhere beneath him, he felt the horrible, empty feeling that had invaded him after Zhengting had left, and was bothered by an odd temptation to kiss him. 

But he didn’t. He smirked instead, watching Zhengting’s pupils fixated on his, dimly aware of how everyone else’s eyes seemed to flicker between the two of them. Back and forth, back and forth.

“Are you gonna answer me, Zhu Zhengting? Don’t you enjoy reconnecting with all those you left behind?” the words boiled up his throat, hot and unchecked and, Xukun recognized, angry. 

“I came for my kid, Xukun.”

“And you’ve seen him. Did you thank Fen and Mubo for the hard work they put into saving his life? How they pulled the bullets out of Zeren with all they had?”

“Xukun,” he heard Ziyi’s warning behind him, a plea in the stagnant air. 

“Of course I did. I thanked Yanchen too. I’ll thank you as well, for letting him in.”

He scoffed “Letting him in? You think I’d leave Zeren bleeding and pale outside the doors?” He clucked his tongue, “Oh how you’ve come to think of me, Zhengting.”

“You know I didn’t mean that.”

“Did I? You didn’t seem to want anything to do with me when you left all those years ago?”

“Xukun!” Yanchen burst out, raising slightly in his stool before Xinjie and Linong pushed him back down.

“You know better than anyone in this room why I did it, Kun.”

“Don’t,” he hissed, “don’t call me that.” He glanced back at a clearly shaking Quanzhe with Ziyi’s hands on his shoulders, “You guys can stay until Zeren heals up. I want you out afterwards.”

And with that, he turned, a bit more harshly than he intended, and strode down the hall until he was sure they weren’t looking anymore, and he could have enough breathing space to break into a run. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor bby xukun


	9. Yanjun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's yanjun!

“Zhangjing! For the last time! We’re literally just going to see Zhengting!” The silver haired man complained loudly, leaning back in the soft chair of their room and scowling at his shorter, red cheeked friend, “Nongnong’s already gone to see them and we’re still stuck here changing!”

Zhangjing threw a shirt at him, the clothing smacking him in the face, “Well it’s not my fault that you already look good in whatever outfit you throw yourself into!”

Lin Yanjun sighed, before resigning to his fate. He massaged his temples with his two index fingers before gesturing to the long sleeved pink sweatshirt on Zhangjing’s pillow, “How about that one? You wore it last time we went out, and everyone said you looked cute.”

“Exactly! I’ve worn it already! I need something else this time!” He pouted, hands on his hips as Yanjun admired his newly dyed curly brown hair.

“Just wear anything, Xiao You. You’re hair is enough to cover up any ugliness your face might have.”

“You-!” Zhangjing swivelled quickly on the spot, lunging at a grinning Yanjun before suddenly stopping.

“What?”

Zhangjing raised his eyebrows at their open door. Yanjun spun his chair around just in time to see a hurried Xukun dash by. 

“What’s up with him?”

Zhangjing looked at him in disgust, “Lin Yanjun, for a trained socialite and assassin, you really have no tact.”

“Yeah, but I only pay attention when I’m on the mission, not when I get the chance to relax!” he protested, continuing to swerve his chair left and right.

“You idiot. Did you forget why Xukun even formed the Retributation in the first place?”

Yanjun had to admit, he had a pretty good point there.

“Okay, but I didn’t think that he’d still make such a big deal out of Zhengting showing up. I thought he was out of the starry-eyed phase.” He looked back at Zhangjing, who had finally finished pulling the outfit he decided on over his head. He stood up, stretching his arms above his head before they were pulled down by Zhangjing’s hot hands. 

“Should we go see if he’s alright?”

Yanjun frowned, thinking for a moment, “No. He needs time to be alone. Besides, if there’s anyone he does need right now, it’s Ziyi.” He swung his arm across Zhangjing’s shoulders, “Now c’mon. Let’s go see what those fuckers have been up to.”

As they walked down the hall towards the medical wing, Zhangjing sniffed lightly, “You really are an idiot, Yanjun.”

“What? Is this still about the Zheng-Kun thing?”

“Not really… just don’t say anything about it anyways when we see them later, okay?”

“Why?”

“Yanjun!”

“They haven’t seen each other in years!”

Zhangjing stopped, forcing Yanjun to dig his toes to propel himself still. He put both hands on Yanjun’s shoulders and looked up at him, deep and serious, “Lin Yanjun. Not everyone can easily forget the people that they’ve loved. That they’ve slept with I mean.” He tacked the last part on offhandedly.

He scoffed, “Ugh, Xiao You. If I knew this was gonna be about feelings and emotions and shit, I wouldn’t have let you mention it.”

Maybe he was being cynical, but he really couldn’t see it the same way Zhangjing did. Xukun and Zhengting  _ had  _ had the hots for each other, sure. They were both deadly, utterly crushing as assassins, and they were both hot as hell. It would have been hard to miss their dynamic in the training centers at SM. But what was so important about it? They had kissed, they had had sex-- just the normal stuff people do when they think someone is hot. And Zhengting left-- for a good reason too-- and Xukun had gotten over it. What was so complicated in it?

He had to admit though, his perspectives on stuff like love were usually pretty far skewed. Leave it to years of learning and sifting through exactly how to make a person’s heart flutter, how to make them eye-fuck you from across the room, how to time your smirks at just the right moment to make anyone drag you to darkened rooms, to totally mess up your perception of real love. Some people said that it was about the sex, love was. Zhangjing certainly thought so, rambling to him about how he wanted to save his first time for someone he really, actually did care for. But if that was the case, he wouldn’t understand it at all. In fact, now that he thought about it, he had probably had sex with more people than he had actually had a legitimate conversation with. He wondered if Linong had the same outlook on it as he did, the sunny boy the only other person in the entire Retributation that could truly understand what it was like to seduce into secrets, information, and blood. 

A pair of fingers snapped in front of his vision, “Earth to Yanjun!”

“What.”

“You were blanking out. We should go before they go tour the place or something.”

As they continued to walk down the dimly lit hall, Yanjun found himself glancing at his short, cheery friend. Was that a slight wisp of wistfulness he saw in his eyes, or just happiness that he was going to see his old friend after so many years? He couldn’t tell, which was extraordinary considering that that was the entire point of his job. Decipering You Zhangjing was always so fucking hard, he probably could have been the best corrupted politician or businessman if he wasn’t so dorky and so in love with the computers and logic puzzles he toyed with during the day.

***

The reunion was a bit better than he thought. The moment he opened the doors to the medical wing, he saw a streak of white barrelling his way before Li Quanzhe was throwing himself into his arms. He laughed, patting his head before looking over at Zhangjing to see that he was already engrossed in a group hug with Justin and Zhengting. 

“Yanjun-ge! Yanjun-ge!”

“Yes, yes, it’s me. The prettiest boy of the entire Retributation.”

“Nuh-uh. That’s me!” called out Yanchen from across the room, face split open in a smile. Yanjun mockingly rolled his eyes before surveying the room around him. 

There was Zeren on the bed, still sleeping, with one of his hands in both of Yanchen’s. Yanchen himself was grinning on a stool beside him, a dark shadow Yanjun recognized as Xingjie leaning against the wall with his arms crossed across his chest. Linong was propped up on another stool beside him, sunny expression masking what Yanjun knew was his stressed look. Okay, so maybe Xukun had messed up the mood a bit more than he thought.

At the foot of the bed, a tall boy with pristine, sharply cut features sat with his arms looped around another skinny boy with a pointy chin. Another handsome boy with icy blond hair was leaning against the medical cart, obviously a bit uncomfortable with the entire situation. Beside him, Zhangjing, Justin, and Zhengting were talking very fast and light, little giggles escaping from their huddle every once in a while. Quanzhe was still squishing his chubby cheeks into his chest, and when Yanjun looked up to see the darkly handsome face of Wang Ziyi sitting on another bed, hands on his knees, he felt Quanzhe’s tears stain his shirt.

“Why are you crying? Hmm?” Yanjun was, admittedly, terrible with babying, but when it was Quanzhe, he always seemed to find it in himself to try a bit harder.

“I missed you, ge-ge.” His voice was muffled in the cloth on his chest.

He gently pushed the boy away from him, “Li Quanzhe, you’re as affectionate and fluffy as ever.”

He watched him laugh, eyes disappearing into a straight line.

“And your hair. You’ve copied me!”

“Did not! I look way better!”

“You’re delusional.”

“Am not!”

They both laughed again, Yanjun finally separating from him and walking over to Zhengting. He embraced him warmly, pleased to see that he felt the same way that he did in seeing him again. 

“Ah, the famous Ba-Ge has found it in himself to drop by and see me.” Zhengting brushed his hair out of his eyes, smiling warmly.

He groaned, “Christ, Zhengting, please don’t use my agent name when I’m not at work.”

“Then you’ve got to stop leaving little 8s on the bodies you leave behind.”

Justin gasped, “Yanjun! That was you!”

Zhangjing answered for him, grinning, “Yeah, Yanjun is trying to become one of those secret agents you see in movies.”

“Shut up.”

Justin continued to squeal, “Oh my god, Yanjun! I keep showing up to those jobs where you’re supposed to go kill a specific target, only to find them already dead with the stupid 8 drawn on them. Do you know how much money I’ve missed out because of you?!”

  
  


Yanjun ruffled his hair, smirking a little. He looked at Ziyi, not smiling as always but still with the smallest twinkle in his eyes, “By the way. We saw Xukun run past our room earlier. Are you gonna go get him or?”

The mood immediately died down. He felt Zhangjing’s glare bore into his back. Ziyi sighed, “Well, Kunkun has decided that he doesn’t want to be in the best mood. I guess I’ll go retrieve him.” He got up and walked towards the door before stopping briefly by Zhengting.

“Don’t pay attention to what he said. He’s just a little… tense. I don’t plan on having you leave anytime soon.” With that, he strode out of the room. 

Barely a second later, they heard his voice, “Oh, and Yanjun? You and Zhangjing and Nong should take them on a tour of the place. Let them see where the bathrooms are and stuff like that. I’m sure there are gonna be more friendly faces to see them.”

Yanjun groaned, turning to Zhengting, “How come I have to babysit you guys this time?”

Zhangjing punched him in the stomach, catching him off guard and sending him to his knees before smiling at Zhengting again, “Don’t listen to him. We would love to show you around.”

Zhengting looked uncomfortable, probably from being reminded of the Xukun situation, and because Yanjun was writhing on the ground in pain, but still smiled, “Thank you, Zhangjing. We won’t be staying for long anyways.”

“Nonsense.” Linong’s voice sounded out warmly, “You can’t leave us now that we’ve found you again.”

Zhengting hummed softly, relaxing his shoulders at the warm words. He turned to the rest of the group before beckoning to the kids he didn’t recognize, “Come on. You guys should go check this place out.”

Linong said surprisedly, “Aren’t you coming with us?”

“I think I should stay here at keep an eye on Zeren…”

“No, Zhengting. Go with them. I’ll watch Zeren.” Yanchen said seriously, before meeting Zhengting’s raised eyebrows. He shrugged, “The kid’s interesting to watch. He’s cute.”

Xingjie slapped his shoulder, “Yanchen!”

Yanjun laughed loudly as they all continued to bicker, before he felt a slight pressure on his side. He looked down. Zhangjing, his mouth open in happiness, watching what felt, even to him, like a family reunion. He relaxed, pulling him closer.

For some reason, the words Zhangjing had said earlier seemed to resonate in his head. _ Not everyone can easily forget the people that they’ve loved, Yanjun. _

He slipped his hand into Zhangjing’s, unwilling to think about the words in his head, and pulled his little procession of people back outside, ready to show them the rest of the base.

Whatever Zhengting’s return might mean for them as a group, Yanjun was sure of one thing: all of this hugging and emotion sparking up was going to make him a very bad case, indeed.

  
  



	10. Zeren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so dramatic lmao. i hate how this chapter is written so i might have to redo it. also excuse the shift in perspective; i effing hate when ppl do that but i can't think of how i can do something else to still make it smooth

Before anything else, Zeren felt the soft brushing of cool sheets against his torso and the odd, cold feeling of something seeping into his arm. There seemed to be a light buzzing in his ears, the sound complementing the light pounds of his heart. 

He shifted a bit, wincing as the movement sent a wave of pain down his shoulder and chest. He waited until the pain numbed away a bit before opening his eyes.

This proved to be a very terrible idea for his heart, as he was immediately confronted with the drop-dead gorgeous face of Zhou Yanchen peering down at him. He felt his heart jump for a moment, before remembering the mission and how he had been shot. 

“Zeren?” he heard the man murmur beside him, eyes sweeping his face up and down anxiously. 

“Hnnngghhhh…” His throat was crazy dry, and he had to lick his lips a few times before he felt like he could say anything.

“Wait here. Let me get you some water.” Yanchen disappeared from his field of view, only to appear again moments later with a glass. He pressed a button underneath the bed, and Zeren felt himself be raised into a slight sitting position. 

Yanchen held the glass up to Zeren’s mouth before tilting it slightly, letting the cold liquid flow past his mouth. Zeren coughed, unable to swallow so much as the action caused shooting pains to race across his body, sending much of the water he had held in his cheeks back onto Yanchen’s hand.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry!” he exclaimed, wanting to bury his face in his arms but unable to.

Yanchen smiled, “Haha, don’t worry. At least you can talk now.”

Zeren, finding that his right arm hurt too much when he tried to lift it, held his left hand instead to accept the glass. He clutched it limply, testing the grip of his fingers around it before flickering his eyes back to Yanchen’s face.

“Nice seeing you after all these years.”

Yanchen grinned, revealing a row of perfectly straight white teeth. He felt his stomach flop.

“Yeah. Who knew I’d finally find you guys after watching you fall from the top of a truck!”

Zeren groaned, “Oh my god. I’m so sorry about that. I promise I’m a lot better than that.”

Yanchen laughed, the soft tickling trickling through the air. Zeren took the opportunity to admire how his eyes crinkled into adorable slits. 

“I’m sure you have. You don’t look anything like the little boy I knew,” he teased, “You’re all grown up now!”

Zeren whacked his shoulder, wincing at the pain but smiling nevertheless.

“Hey! You’re supposed to be recovering. No big movements.”

“You deserved it,” he growled, “No making fun of my pre-puberty era!” Whatever he had to say next conveniently melted into his throat when he felt the pressure of Yanchen’s hand on his.

“But seriously, do you feel alright? You lost a lot of blood.” Yanchen gestured down at himself. Zeren followed his hand to notice with a start the dried blood all over his white sweatshirt.

“Zhou Yanchen!” he didn’t know whether to be touched or honestly grossed out, “You should have changed!”

The tinkling laughter was back. Zeren could get used to looking at the row of white teeth. “I wanted to watch you stay alive.”

Zeren paused, unsure now. He looked at Yanchen’s eyes to see genuine concern and… something else? He wasn’t too sure. All he did know for sure was that he had been conveniently rescued by cutest, kindest, longest crush he had ever had, and that it was making his head and chest swirl with heat. He closed his eyes, trying to calm the pounding in his ears.

“I’ll lower your bed if you want.” He nodded, feeling himself flattening out again. Suddenly, he remembered something.

“Zhengting.” He exclaimed, eyes shooting open again.

“What about him?”

“I need to tell him where I am! I told him I’d be back by the afternoon and oh my god he’s probably so worried! He’s gonna beat my ass when I get home!” He continued to ramble on before he felt Yanchen’s fingers caressing a lock of hair on his forehead. He swallowed whatever he had to say down immediately, and looked expectantly at the gorgeous face beside him.

“Zeren, calm down. Don’t worry about Zhengting. Quanzhe got us to call him. In fact, your entire group is here. They just left a moment ago to take a tour around the place.”

Zeren nodded dumbly, relief washing through his body before it was quickly replaced by confusion.

“Wait… You said they were all here?” Yanchen nodded.

“Where is here? Where am I?”

Yanchen continued to drift his fingers across his hair, the movement dizzying but soothing. “Zeren. If you’re not too tired-”

“-I’m not-”

“-then I’m gonna explain to you a little bit about what exactly has happened to us over the past couple of years.”

Zeren nodded softly, eyes trained now on the gentle crease between Yanchen’s eyebrows. He relaxed back into the pillows underneath him, and let out a deep breath of air. Yanchen, eyes still surveying his face, took this as a good place to start.

*** 

_ Yanchen’s POV _

After Zhengting’s little group had left, everything in the agency seemed to change. 

First off, security was heightened crazily; Kim Junmyeon didn’t take the news that some of his best trainees-- including one of the newest Aces of SM Agency-- very lightly; the following weeks of training saw guards stationed around every corner and extra locks and cameras installed everywhere. Yanchen couldn’t even go to the bathroom without peering directly at a camera or being accompanied by some burly, six foot tall man. 

This was okay. They could get used to the increased security, and besides, the precautions would eventually be taken away.

But the real change occurred within the trainees themselves. Maybe he hadn’t noticed it before, but maybe the trainees really did form true bonds with each other, however sappy that might sound. He felt it: the awkward, jagged feeling he sensed in the air during breakfast every morning.

Zhengting might have been the Ace, and he might have been inseparable from Xukun during training. He might have appeared too untouchable, too cold, too proud, too  _ good _ at this field they were in. And maybe people already knew to stay away from him when Xukun glared at anyone approaching them at every given opportunity. But there was something… warm with Zhu Zhengting when he wanted to be. Something so soft and caring underneath the exterior of an assassin that lured some very brave trainees in. Yanchen liked that part about Zhengting: how he seemed to reveal the tough, truly good trainees from the rest. It made finding new acquaintances that he actually liked very easy. 

He didn’t need to mention Justin or Zeren or Quanzhe. The three of them were like some of the little brothers of the entire trainee group. Them leaving felt like losing a pet or a little brother. 

This newfound emptiness gradually set in with the trainees, settling like dust over everyone that had really known them. 

However, the ones who took it hardest, unsurprisingly, was his own training group. 

With three of the original seven person line up gone, their dorm became a crypt. What was once an easy place to finally relax and think about dreams and better lives was now stagnant, stale, cold. Many nights he returned, alone, from training only to find Ziyi already buried under the covers, Xingjie showering in silence, and Xukun nowhere to be found. They already talked so little during actual training; they were now watched around the clock, suspicious guards and agents afraid that someone in their group would escape again. Besides, Yanchen suspected that no one really wanted to talk anyways. 

He was angry, yes. They had left without a single word to the rest of them, not stopping to hug goodbye, even less offering to bring them with them. It felt like betrayal: hot, boiling betrayal that surged through his body and made his mind bubble with so many thoughts that he didn’t have the heart to talk most days. 

But underneath it, he also understood why they left. The very last time they had talked as a group, the four left of the original seven, Xukun had told them of what Zhengting had discovered, and the very viable threat Justin, Zeren, and Quanzhe were in. 

So yes. He was angry. But the little piece of truth under the surface-- how Yanchen still breathed a sigh of relief when the higher ups reported that they had still not been found, how he was glad that they could finally leave and do whatever they truly wanted to pursue-- was enough to, eventually, wash away all the hurt their leaving had brought.

Maybe it did bring some good to their group in the end. Yanchen, after he had come to terms with it, was the first to reach out again, soothing Xingjie under thick blankets without any words needed for explanation. Xingjie wasn’t known for crying, but Yanchen knew that something like this might have been just what he needed to open up and peel away all his defenses and insecurities to the people who loved him. 

After Xingjie had recovered, getting Ziyi back was easy. Ziyi, like Yanchen suspected, was also hurting from the mixture of betrayal and anger. But also just as Yanchen suspected, he still had enough of that innate kindness he possessed to come to terms with it and lean into Xingjie and Yanchen one very early morning.

The real difficulty was Xukun. He seemed to have broken entirely. Yanchen had to admit, Xukun had never been particularly trusting, nor did he ever really seemed focused on anything other than his improvement. But after Zhengting came, he had seen something open up inside of him, something that made Yanchen smile with easy simplicity when he saw him in the mornings, no longer so strained and angry, but clear and, on rare occasions, smiling. Zhengting’s leaving seemed to twist that brief happiness back onto itself.

Yanchen knew Xukun was angry, more angry than probably anyone in the entire Agency. He wasn’t a stranger to his treatment towards Zhengting, and had almost walked in on many… questionable sounds emanating from training rooms and dark closets. He understood exactly what kind of emotions he was feeling right now. He was angry: angry at Zhengting for leaving them behind, angry at Quanzhe, Justin, and Zeren for being the reason he had to, but most of all, angry at himself for being unable to do anything about it. 

Yanchen, Xingjie, and Ziyi all knew this, and they hated what it did to him. 

Not only was the emotional and mental strain taking a toll on whatever remnants was left of Xukun, an increased physical kick seemed to make him spiral out of control. Now with Zhengting gone, there was only one Ace left. The boy who was once called ‘the King’ was now being forced to train to such great extents, Yanchen, for the first time, saw true weariness in the lines of Xukun’s face. The real fighting power was gone, leaving behind a shell-shocked killing machine that executed perfectly but didn’t even flinch when a knife slit open his arm.

Yanchen hated it, how he could accidentally graze Xukun with a blade only to see him look down at where the wound was trickling blood, eyes dull like the physical pain was somehow filling the spots that Zhengting had been previously.

They finally confronted him one night, waiting in their dorm until Xukun finally returned from whatever harsh individual training regiment he had put himself through that day, at 2 o’clock in the morning. They had pinned him down, and begged him to come back. They had cried altogether and kissed Xukun and hugged each other and held him in loose embraces until Xukun finally broke and sobbed for the first time into their shoulders.

After that, it seemed to get a little better. 

They talked again, though admittedly much more quieter, and had begun to laugh again. They had resumed going to training together, and hugging each other under blankets at night when things got too tough. 

They had begun to reach out to some of the other trainees, who, to their surprise, were also recovering from their friends’ departure. Apparently Zhengting, Justin, Zeren, and Quanzhe had been more pivotal than anyone had thought. Trainees he had known were the brave ones, the ones who dared try to get close with the Ace of SM and his group, such as You Zhangjing, Xiao Gui, Lin Chaoze, Lu Dinghao, Zheng Ruibin, Jeffrey, Qin Fen, Han Mubo, and even Chen Linong and Lin Yanjun, all seemed to join in their new group, all looking for the support they had all recognized they desperately needed.

So from that perspective, things did get better. They had a larger group to rely on now, and the feeling of  _ family  _ overwhelmed them sometimes so much that Yanchen had to cry into his pillow from just how relieving and different it felt. 

But no one forgot about what brought them together. Everyone let themselves open up a bit more and showed their vulnerabilities to more people, but the flip side was that no one forgot what had prompted even some of the most talented, most skilled trainees to flee for their lives. Even though most of them couldn’t find it in themselves to feel truly angry at Zhengting, that anger had to be directed somewhere. That somewhere turned out to be the SM Agency itself. 

They had grown distrustful of it. What once was their home, their school, their future now transformed into a dark, untrustworthy malice that seemed to play with their lives like bread dough. The distrust grew, day by day, until finally, someone snapped.

Yanchen was lying on his bed when it had happened. His hair was still damp from the long shower he had took, and his muscles ached from all the stretching he had to do that day. He was just about to turn onto his side and reach down for some soothing gels when their door burst open.

Xukun strode roughly into the room, eyes seething with rage and, Yanchen noticed, determination. He flung himself beside Yanchen and punched the bed frame so hard Yanchen felt his body shake on the mattresses.

“They really did it.”

“Did what?”

“They killed him.” Yanchen was up in less than a second.

“Killed who?” his mind unwillingly flashed to nightmarish images of Zhengting and Justin and Zeren, handcuffed and beaten and bloody, eyes numb and faces pale and limbs bent in awkward angles. 

“They killed Yixing.” Yanchen stopped, peering uncertain into Xukun’s stormy gaze. He couldn’t disguise the relief that surged through him to hear that he wasn’t referring to Zhengting, but what Xukun just told him still gave him enough discomfort that he had to ask. 

“Are you sure?”

Xukun nodded, before pressing the fingers of one hand to his eyes, “Minseok called me down to his office to tell me that Jongdae would be our next head teacher and director.”

“But maybe he was just promoted or something.” Yanchen wasn’t trying to push for the chance that Yixing was alive; he didn’t feel anything special for the man. Just, the thought of their deadly, impossibly skilled instructor laying pale and unresponsive to the world was so strange, he felt the strings of doubt prod his subconscious.

Xukun fixed him with a hard stare, “Do you really think SM would randomly ‘promote’ people out of nowhere?”

He had a point. SM was notorious for pushing the idea of ‘proving your worth’. No one was raised in rank, no matter how skilled or talented they were, until they had something physical, usually a successful mission, to prove it. 

He leaned back onto the headrest, frowning at Xukun’s still stormy face, “Have you told the others yet?”

“I told Ziyi.”

“What did he say about it?”

“Nothing. You know how he is. He was just angry, you know. Went off to do some boxing without a word.”

“Angry?”

Xukun smirked, “Yanchen, I keep forgetting what kind of person you are. You don’t like bonds, I know that-”

“-I do! I love you guys-”

“-but you don’t give two shits about the people that you don’t love.” He raised a finger when Yanchen opened his mouth to retort, “It’s fine. Honestly, for the most part, I’m like you. In fact, I’m not feeling sentimental at all. I was just thinking… what all this meant for  _ us _ .”

Yanchen waited for his next words, holding his breath as he watched Xukun sift through his thoughts.

“I mean. Yixing was such a good instructor. Every single one of the agents he brought up has been absolutely deadly and incredibly useful towards SM.” He paused, lowering his hands by his sides, “I’m just wondering how they do view everyone here if they are willing to get rid of their best instructor and director for some tiny threat or knowledge he might possess.”

Yanchen nodded slowly, “Yixing was always so loyal to SM.”

“Right, so whatever caused his death must have been jealousy, or something that he saw, or just the fact that he was becoming too good at his work.” He paused and let out another breath. Xukun turned his face towards Yanchen, “If they’re willing to kill  _ Zhang Yixing _ over that, even with how much he’s given and worked for, what are we to them?”

Yanchen didn’t say anything then. His mind flickered stubbornly back to Zhengting, how even though he was the Ace and by all means was untouchable, he still didn’t feel safe in this place. How he resigned himself to slip away in the night with a bag of guns, a couple thousand dollars, and three budding agents on his arm. That combined with Yixing’s assassination… 

Who was Yanchen in all of this anyways? He knew he was one of the best agents in SM now, Zhengting’s departure having forced a new grit inside him that always strove to improve himself. He wasn’t the best, by all means. Xukun and Ziyi and Xingjie and Yanjun and  _ maybe _ Linong were still generally ranked higher than him by the comments of their instructors and whispers of their peers. Yanchen had been okay with this; he lived for the thrill of life, not the fine details anyways. But this business was something new altogether.

Yanchen wasn’t a stranger to playing with lives; he had been on enough missions to know exactly what it was like to force the fight out of someone’s eyes, put bullets into people’s heads even when they begged for mercy. But those were strangers, people he forced himself to see as robots or animals or static images. He would never,  _ never _ even think about turning a gun on the people he held close to him, no matter it be Xukun or Xingjie or Xiao Gui or Chaoze. 

“So what do you say we do?” the words dribbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. A wave of heat purged through his body, sending a strange angry pounding in his ears. 

Xukun leaned close to him, and breathed in his ear, “Cut out the cameras first.” With a flick of his wrist, Yanchen tossed two small blades into the dual security cameras of their room. On a regular day, he would probably be punished for destroying property, but it was late at night, and he didn’t mind it if it meant he could hear whatever Xukun would propose next.

“We should run away.” The words trickled in his ears, electrifying and welcome. 

Yanchen pulled away and widened his eyes, though inside, he was screaming with relief that Xukun was on the same tangent as he was, “Are you sure?”

“Yes. We should get away before they can use us for our bodies and skill and kill us when we become too good.” 

“When do we leave? And who are we bringing?” Yanchen asked, leaning close to Xukun’s now calm form.

“I would hope that you’re planning on bringing us as well.” A dark voice suddenly sounded from the doorway. Yanchen raised his head to catch Ziyi and Xingjie leaning against the walls, arms crossed casually but fists clenched so hard he could see the outline of white under the light. 

Yanchen glanced at Xukun, who wasn’t looking specifically at him anymore but instead focusing a sweeping hot gaze across all three of them.

“We’re bringing all of you. You, Xingjie, Yanchen, Linong, Yanjun, Zhangjing, Linkai, Chaoze, Dinghao, Ruibin, Jeffrey, Fen, Mubo.  _ Everyone _ .”

“Isn’t that a little too many people? That’s basically every single ace of the agency.” Xingjie interjected, only to stop at Xukun’s blinding look.

“We bring everyone this time. We’re not leaving anyone behind to get hurt.” Xukun was firm now, voice dropping an octave and taking on a tone so icy and delicate, even Yanchen knew he should shut up. 

He knew what he was talking about, at least. He didn’t miss the slight way his words had lifted at the end, even with his tough tone and icy stance. He knew he was thinking of another boy, a boy with starry eyes and a graceful lilt and the skill to take out an entire organization by himself. Yanchen knew exactly who Xukun was thinking of, and he also knew with certainty how much Xukun hated what Zhu Zhengting had put them through. The wounds might stitch up and the blood might stop flowing, but the scars, the broken tissue still remained, jarring against pale skin and weaving into a mesh of pain and memories and hurt. 

He knew what Xukun was trying to get at. And he knew that everyone else, no matter what protests they tried to put up, would agree with what he had in mind.

*** 

_ Zeren’s POV _

“And just like that?” His eyes were wide now, attentive, as he listened to what Yanchen was saying.

Yanchen nodded, “We left around a week later. Ziyi, Xukun, and Zhangjing planned out most of the routes and security breaches we’d have to go through, and Yanjun took a couple higher-ups to bed to get the passcodes to the doors. I occupied most of the guards as we slipped through, and the rest is history.”

Zeren sucked in a breath, unsure of what to think.

“I mean, that’s amazing. And you formed this group? This independent organization?”

Yanchen nodded, “We still aren’t heroes, though. We go kill people when there’s money on the line, and we go take out rivalling groups when they send us threats and kill our people.”

“But..?” Zeren felt like there was something else.

“Well…” Yanchen looked unsure for a moment, before sighing and tilting his head in, “We’re also trying to take down SM.” 

“What?!” Zeren yelped before shuddering in pain, his raise of voice and slight jump sending a cascade of pain racing throughout his ride side, “You could have said that part a bit earlier!”

Yanchen clapped a hand over his mouth, “Shhhhh! Xukun is gonna kill me for telling you! I’m not even sure if I was supposed to tell!”

“But Yanchen-ge! SM fucking Agency!”

“Are you pleased or horrified or what?”

Zeren stopped, weighing his opinions, “I’m not sure. It sounds really cool though.”

Yanchen grinned, “It is. We fuck with them so hard sometimes, y’know, just taking out a base here, base there. They know about us, of course. They had to keep tabs on their best trainees and when we left, they were bound to find out what we were up to.” He wiggled his eyebrows, “They’re always so mad. We’re in their blacklist of targets, I know that. The Retributation is almost like a blacklisted word in SM territory.”

Zeren smiled at him, “Damn, if I knew you guys were gonna form something like this, I would’ve told Zhengting to come looking for you earlier.”

Yanchen laid his hands on Zeren’s arm, pulling himself in. He leaned down at Zeren, deep black hair falling in curves over his eyebrows. Zeren forced himself to stare directly into those gorgeous, dark eyes and tried not to let his gaze drop on his perfect nose or enticing, slightly open mouth. 

“I wish you guys had come earlier as well.” He murmured softly, before pulling away again.

“Well, it’s getting late, even for me. I’m gonna let you rest up some more and I’ll grab Zhengting and the rest to come see you. I’m sure you’d want to see them.”

Zeren nodded, heart still pounding, confused and painful, in his chest. Yanchen turned to walk away before, by some stroke of nature, Zeren realized that he was calling for him to wait, just wait one more second.

He stopped, and turned to look at him again, lips curving back into the signature Yanchen smirk. Zeren couldn’t help but think how good it looked on him.

“Yanchen-ge.”

“Yes?”

He paused a second before plunging off the edge. “I’m sorry we left.” He wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do, if he should even be the one apologizing. It wasn’t him that had directly caused Yanchen so much pain; he was just Yanchen’s little brother at the time of his leaving, and Yanchen was just his stupid middle school crush. Zhengting was the one that really held all the strings. 

But to his surprise, Yanchen stopped smirking, face for a brief moment lit up in a genuine look of surprise. His shoulders immediately untensed, and he put his left hand on his right shoulder, eyes now looking away and head tilting. 

_ Adorable. _

“Thank you Zeren.” The gentle, careful voice was back, so uncertain, so relieved, and so bare that Zeren felt his heart clench painfully in his chest, “That might have been just what I needed.”

“Thank you for saving me, Yanchen-ge.” 

And with that, Yanchen left, sending him one more sweeping glance that left Zeren feeling exposed, giddy, and thundering with emotions he desperately tried to keep in check. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new perspective next chapter?


	11. Chengcheng

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god love chengcheng

There was only one time in his entire life that Chengcheng genuinely thought he might die. 

It was after the boys he thought were his friends-- Li Junyi, Bei Honglin, and Qin Junyi-- had dragged him to a secluded place near the place they were supposed to complete a mission, supposedly going to show him something they had found while exterminating the soldiers, and shot him in both legs. He remembers the blinding pain that came with any injury on the quad, and how he had screamed for the only time in his life. He also remembers the smug, greasy faces of the boys he had grown up with as he collapsed onto the ground, the stinging feeling of betrayal in his chest. 

He remembers them walking away, Honglin throwing an arm around Li Junyi, and not calling after them. He remembers thinking bitterly of how they had all clumped around him during training throughout his life; He remembers coming to terms with the fact that these boys had obviously used 8 years of his life to try to get close to him (maybe to climb ranks higher, or maybe just to get on his sister’s, a senior agent, good side, he didn’t know)

But most of all, he remembers thinking  _ this might just be the end. _

Thoughts like these were uncommon for Chengcheng. He had been born and bred a fighter, destined to be the star trainee of JYP ever since his mother, a higher up, had brought him to the training centers for the first time. He had become just that too, raising so fast and so noticeably in ranks that the other trainees were whispering that he was cheating the system somehow.

He probably could have done that, considering how powerful his family was in JYP, but for some reason, ideas like that brought an unpleasant feeling to his throat, hot and bitter like bile.

But what were these things to him now? His family’s power, his cut skill in assassination, his grit and power and expectations were null now as he lay in the grass, body curved in a U shape, watching the blood from one of his bullet wounds trickle onto the ground. 

His ‘friends’ really did choose the worst way for him to die. Not only was it slow and excruciating, the idea that he couldn’t run away from the building that _ he _ had rigged up to explode in an hour was heart pounding to say the least. 

He couldn’t do anything, really, about it. His legs were numb at the point, and dragging himself on his hands, he knew, wouldn’t get him far enough to escape his death. So instead, he lay back and relaxed and watched as a black and white moth floated near a long stalk of grass.

Interestingly, looking back at it, this near-death experience was actually one of the present Chengcheng’s favourite memories. He had enjoyed the true moment of relaxation, but more importantly, it marked the beginning of his encounters with Huang Minghao, and, to his great dissatisfaction, the beginning of Justin’s successful attempts at saving him.

Take right now, for instance. They had just left the medical wing, pacing a bit too slowly down the corridors, and Chengcheng was already feeling overwhelmed. 

He had woken up in the morning, started his day off pretty normally by fighting with Justin and eating a meal cooked by Wenjun. Him and Justin had planned to sneak off when Zhengting wasn’t looking and taking off to go prowl around the city a couple miles away, just typical stuff they always did for fun.

But then Zhengting had gotten the message that Zeren had gotten shot, and that Quanzhe and him were with their old friends from SM. 

He had been whisked away in a bullet like car, been introduced to way too many people in one day with way too much skill and way too much danger lurking around them, and had witnessed quite the icy reunion between Zhengting and his ex. 

So yeah, by now he was fucking exhausted. 

Chengcheng felt himself slumping down a little lower, tired and hungry; if this was any other situation he probably would have snapped already, but seeing that it was Zhengting’s old friends and based on the fact that they had saved Zeren’s life, he didn’t do anything but lick his lips anxiously.

Which is why exactly he was so grateful when, for the third time that day, Justin slipped his hand into his. 

He glanced to his side to find Justin sending him an all too knowing look, and raised his eyebrows wearily as a silent thank you.

***

Justin could be a rascal; he knew that much from their first meeting, when Chengcheng had resigned himself to watch the wind blow the stalks of grass towards his direction, and the two bullet holes in his leg continue to seep bright, scarlet blood over the ground. 

He heard him first, the loud, off tune singing as someone came galloping towards his general direction. He remembers wincing as the person hit a note particularly too sharply, and raising his fists to his ears to block out the jarring sound.

A boy appeared in in the next few, bright yellow hair flopping around on his head, eyes too carefree to be an agent, but still contained enough malice to be a threat. Chengcheng watched as he came closer and closer to where he was lying, until the boy suddenly noticed him and came strolling over.

Chengcheng may have been bleeding to death, but again, if there was one thing he was proud of himself for, it was that he wasn’t a quitter. So even as the blond boy crouched mockingly beside him, smirking like he was the king of the entire world, he still had enough grit to glare back at him.

“Dang. It looks like I got here too late, didn’t I?” the boy’s voice was silky, all too knowing.

“Fuck off,” Chengcheng spat out, bloody saliva coating his bottom lip.

“Should you really be saying that when you’re half dead?” he was infuriating.

“I’m far from kicking the bucket, kid.”

“Hmm” he hummed, “But you will. And by the looks of it, it’s gonna be a slow death.” He gestured to the bullets in his legs, “Those hurt like a bitch, but don’t kill fast enough.”

Chengcheng scowled.

“Seeing as you’re a fighter, I guess I’ll do you a favour.” The boy stood and pulled a gun from his pocket, “I was sent here to take out the head of this place, and I intend to do just that.” He reloaded the gun with a click.

Chengcheng reacted in a flash. His legs might have been disabled, and he might have been weak and light headed from the loss of blood, but there was something he resented in the idea that someone was forcing to go, to die. If he was to die, it would be on his own terms, his own time. 

He pressed his hands hard against the Earth, somersaulting onto his neck, fist lashing out to knock the revolver from his hands. He hung there for a second before bending back down and punching him, hard, in the stomach.

The boy screeched, flipping him hard back onto the ground. He pressed his hands onto Chengcheng’s throat, who gritted his teeth and did the same. 

They might have stayed like that for hours, fingers squeezing at each other’s necks, breathing hard but shallowly from the tight grips, if it weren’t for the boy suddenly grounding down on Chengcheng’s left thigh, the action causing him to see white. He let go of his throat, nauseated from the overload of pain, and desperately blinking his eyes to get rid of the black spots in his vision. The boy straddled him then, pinning his arms above his head before leaning down, nose almost touching his. 

“Still have some fight in you, huh?”

Chengcheng spat in his face, “I would have killed you if you didn’t play dirty.”

“Wasn’t playing dirty, just taking advantage of the situation, you know.”

“Sure, kid. Whatever you say.”

“You know, for a mob boss, you’re pretty young.”

Chengcheng scoffed, “I’m not the mob boss of this place, dipshit.”

The boy’s eyebrows furrowed, before straightening out in a smirk, “Okay, sure.”

“You must really be dumber than you look, kid. I’ll tell you now: you were late to this place, but not because someone took me out, but because I already took the boss out.”

“Oh yeah? Then why are you bleeding to death out here?”

“I’m Fan Chengcheng, the Ace of JYP Agency. Well, the former Ace. I was sent here with my three now ex-best friends to take out a mob boss, only to be shot by them after the mission and abandoned.” He closed his eyes for a second before opening them again, “So now that you know everything about me, can you please leave me alone to die in peace?”

The boy looked stunned, lips parted slightly and eyes doubled in size, “Did you say JYP? Isn’t that an assassination agency?”

“Yeah, but doesn’t really matter. I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t know that I was dying.” Chengcheng sighed, “Can you let go of my hands? I won’t punch you if you don’t touch me too much.”

The boy relented, freeing his arms but still straddling him, “Are you sure you want to die though?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“I can take you to my friends. Wenjun was a med school student, and Zhengting knows a lot about fixing bullet holes. They can save you.”

Chengcheng frowned, “And why would you do that?”

The boy shrugged, “I know what it’s like to be betrayed by people you thought were on your side.”

Chengcheng contemplated for a second before asking, “How do I know that you’re not just trying to throw me off a bridge or something?”

The boy grinned, “You don’t. Let’s go.”

Seeing as there wasn’t any other option, allowed the boy to pick him up, before he was wheezing and setting him back down.

“Jesus fucking Christ you’re fat.”

“I’m just dense. Get used to it.”

The boy readjusted, this time lugging Chengcheng on his back to carry him like he was giving him a piggyback ride. As he started to head back the direction he came from, Chengcheng had to ask.

“You said you came here to finish off the mob boss, right?”

He hummed.

“Why? Are you part of a rival gang or something?”

The boy laughed, the action sending vibrations down his body, “Since you’ve basically told me all the details about you, I guess I’ll introduce myself as well.” He cleared his throat and paused to readjust Chengcheng on his back, “I’m Huang Minghao, but don’t use that name; use Justin instead. I was one of the best agents and assassins at SM Agency before I left with my best friends a little under a year ago. We do our own thing now, occasionally taking in someone we think is interesting. And you, Fan Chengcheng, are pretty fucking interesting.”

Chengcheng sighed, looping his arms around Justin’s neck for a smoother ride. He felt the hands underneath his shins readjust, “You’re really annoying, did you know that?”

“I’m saving your life right now, dipshit.”

“Fine, fine, I get it. Did you say that you were one of the best in SM?”

“I mean, how else would I take down the Ace of JYP.”

“I’m injured. You would have gotten flattened if I was at my prime.”

“Well, don’t do that anytime soon. Zhengting will be mad, and he was the Ace of SM.”

Chengcheng leaned in, “You have the fucking Ace of SM with you?”

“That’s what I just said! Stupid.”

They continued to bicker like this until the pain in Chengcheng’s legs got so blinding that he had to scrunch his eyes shut and grit his teeth. Justin sensed this and began sprinting instead of the slow haul he had been keeping up. Chengcheng wanted to punch him:  _ why didn’t you do this earlier? _

Thus began his friendship with Huang Minghao.

He had, along with the rest of Justin’s little family, shown themselves as a pretty reliable, pretty  _ nice  _ bunch. He was almost expecting this Zhengting guy to throw him out or something, but to his surprise, he screamed into the house for supplies and support after only a few words from Justin for why there was a bloody, sweating, barely conscious boy on his back. He still remembers the look of genuine concern when Zhengting pulled the bullets from his legs, and the careful concentration of Wenjun and Xinchun as they bandaged him up. He remembers Zeren bringing him water and Quanzhe nervously holding his hand when the bullet removal got too much. And he remembers Justin squatting beside him through the entire thing, babbling on and on to take his mind off things, and making him almost pop a lung in annoyance from his shallow insults or jabs.

He had trusted them more after that, though admittedly slowly, unwilling and unsure about putting his life, his trust into other people again. After all, he had been betrayed by the people he thought were his friends before. But there was something… different about their entire group. They accepted him without question even when he told him who he was, and had opened themselves up to him about their own problems barely a couple of weeks after they had met. 

Chengcheng had planned on staying until his legs recovered and he could fight again- just enough time to patch himself back up so that he could go back to JYP and give his ‘friends’ a piece of his mind. 

But the family, the warmth, the bonds he never thought he would ever experience grew on him, and even after he could kick Justin across the face with almost the same force as he could before his injuries, he found himself settling in. 

They could all still be scary. Wenjun was icy and put hot peppers into his food when he pissed him off. Xinchun dumped water on him when he punched him too hard. He watched first hand as Zhengting wrestled a screaming Justin into the dirt, livid about running off an entire day with Chengcheng without telling him, genuine fear clouding his brain at the thought that he might be next and muttering to himself that Aces of SM were no fucking joke. 

Even the ones that didn’t seem scary at first, eventually proved themselves to be deadly. Zeren was short, but what he lacked in height, he gave off as power. A glare from Zeren could be enough for Chengcheng to put whatever he was messing with down, and after watching Zeren pummel Quanzhe with the skill of a master martial artist, he further solidified that point. Quanzhe was small and chubby cheeked and cute, but Chengcheng watched him put eighteen bullets into the body of a man that had tried to assault him in a marketplace, and knew that he wasn’t someone to be looked down upon.

The only person that never became any different was Justin. With his barking laugh and dumb antics and stupid jokes and pick up lines, Chengcheng still found him just as annoying as the first day he met him. When he finally recovered, he pinned Justin underneath his shins and had wrestled him for nearly ten minutes trying to get his revenge. 

They were similar in skill, Chengcheng maybe edging him out by a sliver, and he had to admit that Justin, although annoying, genuinely brought a bit more lightness to his life.

They did dumb things together, raiding places behind Zhengting’s back, or just went on missions without telling anyone and making them all think they were dead. They pranked Wenjun in the mornings and made Quanzhe cry and made dark fire flicker up in Zeren’s narrowed eyes. It was fun. And Chengcheng found himself smiling and laughing more than he had ever done during his eight years of training at JYP.

Maybe it was that: the family environment, the shoulder, the support that this group gave him. And maybe a little bit was the sound of a blond-haired boy’s laugh echoing in his ears. Because when Zhengting finally asked the question he knew he was dreading on asking, voice gentle and trying not to betray how he didn’t want the answer to be yes, Chengcheng could look directly into his face and say with certainty, “I’m not going anywhere, ge.”

***

“And here’s the sniper section. We have a couple main snipers, like Lin Chaoze and Lu Dinghao over there.” Zhangjing waved to two boys relaxing on a sofa, who grinned and waved back. Chengcheng tightened his fingers around Justin’s before leaning down to place his lips by his ear.

“I think Xinchun thinks the Dinghao kid is cute.”

Justin’s head swerved in Xinchun’s direction, probably just in time to see his mouth open in awe before it snapped shut and a red tinge was blooming over his cheeks. Justin snickered, turning to Chengcheng and sending him a look that implied  _ let’s tease him later _ .

Chengcheng silently agreed with a smirk before they were led to a corridor with a series of doors on its sides.

“These are the dorms,” Linong explained, “Just where we sleep and stuff.” He pointed out who lived in each room briefly, before gesturing to two doors.

“There are three beds in each room, one bunk bed set and one single bed. These two rooms can be yours.” Then, face suddenly lit up in a warm smile, “You guys are right beside me and Yanjun and Xiao You!”

Chengcheng watched as Zhengting clasped Linong’s hand in his, thanking him for showing them around. 

“No worries, ge. You were always there for me at SM anyways.” The boy put a hand behind his head, a little bashful but obviously pleased at the compliment. It was so cute and innocent that Chengcheng probably would have gushed if Justin hadn’t whispered in his ear about how Linong had single handedly taken down an entire crime syndicate, sleeping with and murdering the officials one by one until there wasn’t anything left. 

Linong, Yanjun, and Zhangjing finished explaining the general house rules one more time before they were retreating into their room, wishing everyone a good night. Yanjun paused just a moment before going in.

“Zhengting, you know that we’re all thrilled to see you back, right?”

Zhengting nodded kindly once before telling them to go get a good night’s sleep. The door clicked shut and Zhengting turned on them.

“I guess we should sleep then?” he said, hands on his hips, “I’ll take Cheng and Justin in one room and Wenjun can take Quanzhe and Xinchun.”

Justin scoffed, tucking his chin on Chengcheng’s shoulder, “Ge, go with Wenjun-ge. Let Xinchun come with us. You’re gonna cry if you don’t have Wenjun to comfort you when you’re scared.”

Zhengting glared at him, but agreed a little too quickly for Chengcheng to solidly say that he had a point. 

But when they had all gotten tucked in, and he was looking up at the ceiling on his top bunk, contemplating the day’s events, he couldn’t help feel pleased that it had worked out this way. Xinchun, with his quick and deep slumber, didn’t wake as easily as Zhengting did. Not even when a skinny, blond kid lumbered too loudly up the ladder and flopped heavily on top of Chengcheng. Not even when Chengcheng angrily whispered at him to get off him, before resigning to it and wrapping his arms around him.

Yes, he liked this arrangement.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i rly like the story im envisioning for justin n cheng, lmk what u think of the chapter!


	12. Ziyi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of a filler to highlight Ziyi's relationship with Xukun, its dynamic, and introducing someone we haven't seen yet!
> 
> this is written so bad god

Ziyi huffed heavily as he jogged through the halls, hands in his hair as he redid the braids and looped them back into a rough ponytail. 

To most people, his best friend could be a quite the fucking handful. Cai Xukun. The King of SM Agency. The hard headed, powerful, good-at-everything trainee who never compromised and finished his missions with brash cruelty and incredible speed. The boy who he had met when he was still pale and thin, but had eventually grown into one of the deadliest men in this entire profession. 

But right now, he knew that he needed him.

Ziyi knew where to find him; Xukun always went to the same place when he was angry or frustrated or just simply confused. He understood him well enough to know exactly what he was doing and what he needed as well.

So when he strode into the smaller gym near their dorms and saw Xukun in the corner, headband holding up his hair and beating at a punching bag, he couldn't say he was surprised. 

He wasn’t surprised either when Xukun noticed him watching him and snarled, “If you’re here to yell at me about being rude or some shit, just know that I’ll break your back.”

Ziyi laughed, tossing off his jacket and joining him near the punching bags, “You should try. Wanna fight?”

Xukun didn’t hesitate as he slicked off his boxing gloves, “I’m going bare fisted, just to let you know.”

“At least bandage your knuckles beforehand,” Ziyi was already wrapping cotton strips and tape around his hands, “Give Fen and Mubo a break.”

“You’re just scared to feel my fist on your face.”

Ziyi hummed as he grabbed Xukun’s hand, wrapping a layer of tape around it, “That may be part of the reason, yes.”

He wasn’t lying. 

Later, when Xukun drove his fist into the side of his abdomen, he had to clench his teeth to keep from gasping at the force. Ziyi swung at his head, pleased when his arm collided with his temple and Xukun had to bend low to recover. Xukun doubled back and swung his legs underneath Ziyi’s, unbalancing him. Ziyi caught himself in time to block Xukun’s kick at his ribs, and twisted the leg over his shoulder.

They continued like that for a while, until sweat dripped through their shirts and Ziyi was sure he would be bruised purple by tomorrow morning. Xukun finished it with one solid kick on his back, and Ziyi held up one of his hands in protest.

“Okay, okay. I’m done. Let’s get cleaned up now.”

As they walked over to wipe themselves down and take a drink, Ziyi felt Xukun’s hand on his arm.

“Thank you, Ziyi.” He could hear by his tone that he was being genuine. He turned to his side and pulled him into a hot, sweaty hug.

Xukun squirmed, “This is so fucking gross.”

“Yes, but you needed this.”

“I needed the fight, not the hug.”

Ziyi pulled him down to the ground, “I know you’re lying, Kun. You know that I know that.”

Xukun sighed, resigning himself to lean into Ziyi. They stayed like that, Ziyi silently embracing him the way he knew he needed.

“I just…” Xukun sighed, Ziyi leaned in to listen. “You know.”

And he did know. He had been there after Zhengting had left, the only time he had ever seen Xukun cry. He had watched his best friend tear himself apart, searching for answers he knew he wouldn’t find. He had watched him push himself way, way past the breaking point, until his stitches refused to stay shut and his legs swelled from over-exertion. He had watched the Xukun he knew, all the power and fire and grit, morph into an emotionless, cold, painless killing machine. 

Ziyi didn’t say anything, even as Xukun pushed his forehead against his chest a little too hard. 

Ziyi had rebuilt Xukun with his own hands, stacking the bricks up one by one the best he could, until the flicker was back in his eyes. He couldn’t repair the damage that was done, and he couldn’t seem to get rid of the now overly determined, overly ambitious, workaholic traits Xukun seemed to have. But he had helped return him to life, and had been by him when he formed the Retribution.

He didn’t hate Zhengting; he knew very well that he probably would have done the same thing in his situation. He cared for him deeply, and, if he was being honest with himself, now that he had found him again, he wouldn't ever want him to leave again.

But with Zhengting’s form silently treading in the halls, he didn’t know what would happen to Xukun, and what to do about it.

***

The boy with dark, puffy hair and round glasses was still tapping away at the computer when Ziyi walked into the room. Ziyi had to tap the doorframe a couple times with his fingers before he heard him and turned his chair around. Ziyi watched as he leaned into the backrest, fingertips touching.

“Tough day again?” Jeffrey asked him, raising his eyebrows gently. Ziyi sighed. 

“It’s alright. Zhengting coming back is taking a toll on everyone.”

Jeffrey hummed, “I would expect that it would.”

Ziyi leaned against the doorframe before gesturing towards the three huge computers on Jeffrey’s workstation, “Going overtime again?”

“Meh. Just wanna get the stats done for Yanjun and Zhangjing’s mission next week.” He pursed his lips into a slight smile, “Overtime? Am I getting paid?”

Ziyi chuckled, still leaning against the door.

“You shouldn’t push yourself, blank-ffrey.”

“Says you. You’re dark circles are so black now you look more like a panda than Chaoze.”

Ziyi felt his face bend into a smile. He allowed himself to do it; he wasn’t usually a smiler.

It was weird, how Ziyi, after Xukun, always seemed to come visit Zhangjing and Jeffrey’s tech center to destress. It surprised him at first, how his feet naturally brought him there after a particularly tough mission, or even just Xukun being angry. He had been close with Zhangjing even back at the Agency, the boy checking up on him now and then, so he guessed it was understandable. But Zhangjing was usually off somewhere with Nongnong or Yanjun when he was dropping by, so it couldn’t have been him. It was probably just Jeffrey, with his deep dimples and neutral expression and slow pace. Reasons why he had no idea.

He hadn’t been close with Jeffrey at SM, in fact, he barely knew him as Xiao Gui and Zhangjing’s friend. It was only when Jeffrey had come along with them when leaving SM that he even acknowledged him in the first place. 

Jeffrey didn’t talk much, the boy being much too shy and reserved to offer his opinion on whatever issue was at hand. But he was a good listener, and his dry sense of humour was a good way for Ziyi to relax. Ziyi himself wasn’t a talker either, but somehow, the silent moments he spent with Jeffrey were comforting instead of awkward. They usually just hung out like this, Ziyi leaning against the doorframe, not stepping into the room full of monitors and wires and hacking devices, Jeffrey leaning back into his chair, basking in the silent tranquility they both brought. On a rare occasion, Jeffrey would agree to come work out with him, lifting weights and doing squats and all the things a bro should do with him. Ziyi would dryly ask why Jeffrey never considered being an agent, with how much he could press and just how much muscle he had on him. He would hum and continue spotting Ziyi or lifting weights, and they would go on.

It was nice. 

“I guess I’ll be going then. Sleep early.” Ziyi straightened himself out and turned to leave.

“Wait, Ziyi.” He spun around again. 

Jeffrey was smiling again, cute dimples framing his mouth, “Take a break, will you? You look exhausted, honestly.”

Ziyi nodded, before leaving the room, feeling more unwound and refreshed than he had in a week. 

  
  



	13. Zhengting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> currently debating what my fav ip ship is
> 
> this chapter is supposed to happen around a week after the last chapter

Zhengting thundered through the halls, hands clenched into fists by his sides. 

“What’s wrong, Zhengting?” Ziyi called out from slightly behind him, after he had roughly brushed by him.

“Do you know where Cai Xukun is?” His voice came out pissed. 

“Uh, check the medical wing. I think he’s in there checking on Zeren-”

Without waiting for Ziyi to finish talking, he stormed off in the direction of the medical center. When he got there, he didn’t bother to be gentle as he punched open the door and stomped inside. 

The first thing he registered was that behind Zeren’s hospital curtain, a voice was gruffly asking how Zeren was healing up, if he needed more painkillers, and to tell him if Yanchen was being too annoying. 

The second thing he registered, after he had stormed over to Zeren’s bed, was an almost surprised looking Xukun standing at the foot of the bed, head turned in his direction, brows unfurrowed for the first time that week. 

He noticed Zeren and Yanchen exchange a quick glance, obviously tense about whatever dark expression he had on his face. Xukun’s eyes narrowed.

“What do you want, Zhengting.”

“You’re messing with my kid.”

“I’m checking up on him.”

“Mmm.” He paused, glaring hard at Xukun’s unwavering expression. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yanchen open his mouth only to close it after catching Zeren’s eye. 

“Can we talk, Xukun?” The words hung in the air, and Xukun seemed to let them sink in for a second before sighing.

“Is it urgent?”

“Are you afraid of having a chat with me?” He saw the jump in Xukun’s jaw and knew he had won.

“Fine. Let’s go someplace else for this.”

Xukun passed him on his way to the door. Zhengting quickly followed suite, aware of the anxious looks being passed between Yanchen and Zeren behind him.

As they paced down the hall, Zhengting tried to get a glance of Xukun from the side of his eye. He had filled out a little, no longer so thin and lean but fuller and with a new layer of muscle. His eyes were harder though, his mouth set in an unreadable line.

Xukun led them into a training room with a line of treadmills on one side and mats set up on the ground on the other. He closed the door behind him before turning on Zhengting.

“What do you want.”

“What the hell are you trying to do with this group, Xukun?” His voice was composed, but held a degree of danger he knew Xukun could detect.

“What do you mean what the hell am I trying to do?!”

“Cai Xukun! You know exactly what I’m talking about!” 

Xukun sighed, “I’m guessing someone told you?”

“Yanchen.”

“Of course he did.” They both boiled in silence for a couple of seconds.

“So what are you trying to accomplish here, huh? Trying to take down SM?”

“I’m leading a revolution.”

“You’re playing with lives.”

“I’m being a leader.”

In seconds, Zhengting was up in his face, chest-to-chest and staring him down.

“Leader?! You’re literally leading them to death!” he shouted, eyes still not flickering from Xukun’s icy brown ones.

“I’m giving people a better future!”

“By killing our friends?!”

“By  _ leading _ our friends to use their skills to-”

“-to set them up for failure! Xukun. SM Agency! The Retributation is literally just 20 ex-trainees! Do you really expect that you can take down SM with twenty fucking people?”

Xukun crowds into him, voice now raising in volume and cracking at the edges, “Zhu Zhengting, every single one of my agents are capable of taking down a single organization! You should know that better than anyone!”

“Yes, but this is  _ SM  _ Xukun. You can’t just pull out unrealistic ideas and convince people to act on them! They aren’t your soldiers!”

“Every single fucking person here, including your fucking ‘kids’ wants to see the end of SM! It’s not just a stupid plan I came up with!”

“You make the fucking decisions here!”

“We all do!” Xukun jams himself up into Zhengting, breathing heavily now, “Everyone here has the right to whatever the fuck they want, and its just peachy that everyone has the same goal.” He leans in closer to Zhengting so that their noses were almost touching, “And last time I checked, you didn’t give a shit of what we did nine to five.”

“I care about my friends, Xukun.”

“They’re my friends too.”

“I don’t want to see my friends get fucked up because of what one stupid idiot thought was a good idea.”

“You don’t get the right to think that way when you didn’t even want to be with us in the first place.” 

They glared at each other. Zhengting stared down Xukun’s stormy look, knowing that his own were probably just as turbulent. He could feel Xukun’s breath hitting his face, the heat going right to the sweat on his forehead.

And then his mind flashed back to another time when they had stood like this, eyes trained stormily at each other, almost like they were watching to see who would crack first. He remembers Xukun’s hands on his shoulders, gripping so hard he knew he would bruise, and the sheen of sweat on both of their heads mixing as they pressed their foreheads together. It had been during a wrestling match they had, and Zhengting emerged with so many bruises and scrapes that Xukun probably would have gotten beat if he didn’t have equally as many as well.

The moment was broken when the door banged open suddenly. Zhengting broke the gaze to glare at the awkwardly intruding figures of Zhangjing and Yanjun.

“Sorry to ruin the moment,” Zhangjing said apologetically, “We just need to pick up some gear for our mission later.”

Yanjun reassures him, “We’ll leave right away.”

Xukun shakes himself a little, as if to recover from the intensity of his fight with Zhengting, before brusquely huffing out, “No worries. This conversation is over.” With that, he pushed past Zhengting out the door.

Zhengting, still seething, spun on Yanjun, “Tell me why the fuck Xukun thinks he’s a god now, hating SM even though he’s doing the same thing and playing with lies.”

“He’s just trying to help.”

“By using you guys!”

“No,” Zhangjing said gently, “We all wanted this. I think Xukun wanted to do the SM thing with only Xingjie, Yanchen, and Ziyi. We kind of just all found out and jumped on the bandwagon.”

“You think this is a good idea, trying to take down the most dangerous organization in all of Asia, our teachers, with only twenty young assassins?”

Yanjun smirked, “Not twenty. Twenty seven. We have you guys now.” His voice was silky, sweet.

Zhengting shook his head, “Over my dead body are you getting my kids involved in this.”

Zhangjing smiled apologetically, “I think they’ve already committed to it.”

Zhengting groaned, burying his face in his hands and squatting on the floor.

“We’re all pretty committed. Like now, Yanjun and I are getting ready to go get info from two SM lower ranking officers.” Zhengting shot up again in a flash, grabbing Zhangjing by the shoulders and shaking him roughly.

“Did Xukun set you up for this?” he whispered furiously.

“No,” Yanjun put a hand on Zhengting’s arm, frowning at him for gripping Zhangjing so hard, “Like we said, we’re all in this together.”

Zhengting groaned again.

Zhangjing removed his hands from his shoulders before patting him sympathetically on the back, “I know you’re worried, Zhengting. But you can’t protect us all, not even the kids you actually brought up.” He gave him a quick hug before leaving the room with Yanjun, arms carrying the strappy holsters he had come in for.

Zhengting was left alone in the training center, more frustrated than ever. He kicked the wall hard in anger once, before ripping open the door and storming in the direction of his dorm. All the way, all he could think about were Xukun’s hard, angry stare boring into his, and the heat of his breaths mingling with his. 

  
But as he threw himself into Wenjun’s unsuspecting embrace, finding solace in the crook of his neck and how he drew circles on his back, he couldn’t help but wonder:  _ was I the reason for all this? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> queen zhengting


	14. Zhangjing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zhangjing is such a puffball omg

“Zhangjing-ge. I just don’t fucking understand why you would go with this narcissist instead of sunny, adorable, Nongnong,” Justin whined for the third time that night from his perch on Chengcheng’s back. Chengcheng was laying on his stomach on Linong’s bed, watching Zhangjing and Yanjun set up for their mission, surprisingly dormant with Justin’s butt on him. 

“Huang Minghao, for the last time today, I can’t go with Nongnong because he’s out showing Xinchun around the tech centers and introducing him to Jeffrey and Xiao Gui,” he said, not looking up from where he was tucking a blade near Yanjun’s ankles.

Yanjun reached over and whacked Justin around the head, “For the record, I am  _ not  _ a narcissist, and, hey! I’m adorable” Zhangjing tried not to giggle at how genuine he made the offense in his voice sound, even though he knew Yanjun couldn’t care less.

Justin laughed jarringly, “You kind of don’t look the part, Yanjun-ge.”

Yanjun began to protest, before Chengcheng explained, “What he’s trying to say is that he’s confused why you would bring an obviously drop dead gorgeous, but pretty intimidating looking guy on a mission you’re trying to play innocent and coy, when Linong’s cute face is a much better choice.”

“I am hot as fuck, Fan Chengcheng. I can get into peoples pants.” He wiggled his eyes suggestively at him before Zhangjing punched his upper thigh.

“How old are you?” he hissed at him, before shifting his expression back into the overly bright smile to look back at Chengcheng’s amused face. “You’re no wrong. Yanjun looks far from what men who like power want-- they usually want young looking, fresh, cute, dainty things like Nong-- but somehow, his flirting and dumb pick up lines somehow crack them every time.”

Justin and Chengcheng guffawed. “I almost forgot about how stupid this ge can be, Zhangjing!” Justin howled, “I almost erased the memory of watching Yanjun learn and practice flirting for the first time!”

Yanjun scowled at him, before turning to Zhangjing, “Are you almost done? I need to give this little shit a piece of my mind.”

Justin squealed, “No, ge! Don’t!”

Yanjun continued, “Or maybe, I’ll just call Xingjie over to teach him to be so loud.”

That did it. At the mention of Xingjie’s name, Justin scrambled off Zhangjing’s bottom bunk, grabbing Chengcheng by the wrist, and scampered off out the door.

“Good luck on the mission!” Zhangjing heard him screech out moments later, followed by more laughing from Chengcheng. He turned back on Yanjun.

“God  _ damn  _ these kids.” Yanjun was huffing in fake anger, “Don’t respect their elders, even if their elders are incredibly attractive and cool.”

Zhangjing glanced at him, “And you just said that you weren’t a narcissist!”

“I’m not! I’m just stating what the entire world thinks about my face!” He pushed Zhangjing’s hands away from his leg, “That’s good. I don’t need this many blades on me; if all else fails, I could always just suffocate them or crack a neck.”

Zhangjing straightened up, “Yes, but then you’d get your skin or hands all messed up and not pretty.” He had no doubt that Yanjun could kill without so much as his index finger, but the thought of how that would tarnish his beauty prevented him from agreeing to that plan.

Yanjun scoffed, before standing up. Zhangjing watched as he stretched his back out once, before bending down and pulling Zhangjing’s left sleeve up, “Oh good. You still have the blade strapped here. You should be worried about your own neck, Xiao You. I know for a fact that you can’t kill without a knife or a gun.”

Zhangjing batted his hands away, “Screw you! I can choke someone if I really wanted to!”

Yanjun smirked arrogantly, earning a series of punches on his chest, “Hey, hey, hey, you were the one who said that I shouldn’t get bruised or cut or whatever.”

Scowling he retracted, remembering his own words. He let his annoyance out instead by roughly readjusting the lapels on Yanjun’s suit, pulling a little harsher than he usually would. 

“You aren’t really disappointed about getting stuck with me, right?” Yanjun’s voice suddenly wavered, betraying a sliver of genuine worry.

Zhangjing looked up to see Yanjun focused intently on his head, eyes now serious, so different from the usual laid back, flirty gaze. “You idiot. We’ve been on enough missions with just the two of us. I basically do all of my outdoor work with you!”

“No, you went with Ziyi those couple of times!”

“Only because Jeffrey was busy!”

Their bickering was interrupted by a slight rap on their door frame. Zhangjing turned his head at the sound, to see a smirking Xingjie.

“Okay, okay, you old married couple. Sorry for interrupting your cute little moment,” he raised his eyebrows, “Just dropping in to check up on everything before your mission.”

Zhangjing blushed; for some reason, he never seemed to get nervous or bashful around Yanjun himself. It was only when Xingjie or the others labelled them something stupid like a couple that he actually got red cheeked.

“We’re not a couple.” Yanjun furrowed his eyebrows, “Love never works out.” Zhangjing shoved him, pouting.

Xingjie scoffed, “That’s what people say when they’re in denial.” He brushed a hand through his black hair, “Anyways, you guys sure you guys are ready for tonight?”

Zhangjing nodded, “It’s just two SM officials. They aren’t even in the inner circle.” He glanced at Yanjun, “Besides, I’m sure ba-ge here can take out anyone if he really wanted to. Except maybe Yanchen when he’s being a little shit.” 

Yanjun frowned, “Don’t give him a reason to come looking for a fight. You know he always wants one.”

Xingjie chuckled, “Alright, alright. Just be careful.” He pointed at his wrist, “You guys should leave soon if you want to catch them when there’s the max number of guests.”

Zhangjing gave him a quick pat on the back before he followed Yanjun out the door.

He continued to chat with Yanjun as he climbed into their van, settling himself behind the steering wheel. Yanjun was complaining about the number of blades secured around his legs, and moaning about the very likely possibility that Yanchen would come to taunt him into a fist fight later on. Zhangjing smiled.

***

They had been like this ever since Yanjun had first approached him back at SM. At the time, he was just a rookie techie: not particularly outstanding in the field, but good enough to be placed in the same training group with Xiao Gui and Jeffrey. He would spend most of his waking hours learning hacking techniques and coding and everything else people usually associated with a computer, unnoticed and content to blend into the crowd.

Yanjun, on the other hand, was a sort of legend among the trainees. He was part of the socialite department, trained in manipulation, assassination, seduction, and every dirty, underground operation one might think of. However, what made him stand out was his undeniable skill and deadly charm in the field. Him and his partner Linong were whispered about by the trainees to be on the same tier as what they called the Monster trainee group, comprised of Ding Zeren, Huang Minghao, Zhu Xingjie, Zhou Yanchen, Wang Ziyi, and of course, the King Cai Xukun, and the Ace Zhu Zhengting. Many times had Zhangjing snuck a glance at Yanjun when he was passing his training center to admire how undeniably sexy and seductive he could be before utterly decimating whoever he was pitted against. This trait of his stood out even sharper when people contrasted him with Nongnong’s innocent, sunny, soft facade. The ‘Nong-Jun’ duo were so undeniably talented and skilled in their craft, Zhangjing couldn’t help but agree with the general population’s whispers.

But what no one could have competed against was Yanjun’s remarkable beauty. The boy had, the worst, a face of a supermodel. His chiseled features, his deep dimples, his perfectly taunting smirk, combined with the unmistakable glint in his eyes was usually enough to take anyone's breath away when he glanced in their general direction. Zhangjing knew for a fact that his entire tech group had a mini crush on him.

Zhangjing himself found him attractive, and he always had to remind himself to not stare when he passed by him in the halls, but had to admit that he was a little too intimidating for him; Zhangjing wasn’t anyone special, so he wasn’t going to throw his heart away at a boy who played with lies like fire and who had the entire Agency wrapped around his little finger.

Which is why exactly it surprised everyone when, one day, after the daily schedule, Yanjun walked briskly into the general tech commons, not sparing a glance at any of the gasping trainees around him, and stood in front of Zhangjing’s computer.

Zhangjing watched him as he approached him through the crowd of gaping people, uncomfortably aware of the gasping and open mouths all around him. He looked him solidly in the eye as Yanjun put both hands on his desk and leaned closer to him, meeting the seductive look in his eyes with a level face even though his heart was thudding hard in his chest.

“You Zhangjing, right?” More gasps all around that Yanjun even knew his name.

“Uh, yeah,” he said uncertainly, “What can I do for you?”

“I need someone to decode something I got on a mission,” Yanjun leaned even closer, deep dimples pooling around his smile, “Can you help me?”

Zhangjing gulped, feeling naked under his intense gaze, “Uh, sure. I’ll go get Jeffrey. He’s like the best techie here.” He was beginning to get up from his chair when Yanjun interrupted him.

“I want  _ you _ to come help though.” He smiled knowingly, “If you’re scared of me, just know that Chen Linong will be there as well.” Zhangjing raised an eyebrow.

“Fine. Right now?”

“Right now.”

He got up from his desk and allowed Yanjun to sling an arm around his shoulder, dimly aware of the jealous looks of disbelief he was getting and only thinking about how fast his heart was beating. 

It had been fine in the end. He had cracked the code Yanjun and Linong had shown him without too much effort, and Nongnong had even hugged him in the end in excitement. In theory, he should have been honoured that he was chosen to help some of the best trainees in the entire Agency, and returned to his department with bragging rights, never to have another opportunity.

But what surprised him was that this scene kept unfolding. Yanjun would come drop by the tech center and ask Zhangjing for help. Zhangjing would go spend an evening in Yanjun and Linong’s dorm, poring over sheets of symbols and fiddling with weird gadgets. They would joke, talk, laugh even, until it was done and Zhangjing left for the night. Another day would pass. The cycle would repeat.

Somehow, along the way, Zhangjing got more comfortable with the company of the two. Linong was bright and cheery, like him, and he always felt so warm with his toothy smile and cute antics. Yanjun was still dark, alluring, sexy, but Zhangjing grew to understand that he could have his dumb moments too. Somehow, they became  _ friends _ .

No one understood it, how the insignificant nerdy techie became the close friend of two of the most skilled, deadly assassins of the entire Agency. Zhangjing returned many nights to his department to be swarmed by questions what had happened, how hot Yanjun was, how cute and innocent Nongnong could be, why they asked him to help with, et cetera. 

Somewhere along the way, he lost some acquaintances who were jealous of the attention he was somehow being given. But the bitterness that accompanied this was quickly replaced by the thought that Zhangjing had gained two people he held dear. Zhangjing was an easy going person; he made friends with everyone. But there was something about Yanjun and Linong-- not their incredible skill or precision in killing-- but their human side that he loved so much. Nongnong could be a real sweetheart underneath all the lies, and Yanjun pretended he didn’t care about them but still snuck more food underneath the table to him when he didn’t think people noticed.

At first, he had thought that maybe he was the only feeling that way. But when, on one dark night, he had been cornered in a secluded area by Yanjun, he learned different. He had been dark, intense, just like the first day they met, and there had been a certain sense of urgency that he hadn’t seen in him before. Zhangjing understood soon, however, when Yanjun asked him to run away with them to start a new life someplace new. He understood when he looked up into Yanjun’s heavy gaze on him and realized that they did care, and that Zhangjing had somehow, somehow, become part of them.

But he also knew, on that day, that he was fucked. Feeling the plea in Yanjun’s voice, seeing the very well masked sliver of desperation in the quiver of his pupils as he asked him, he knew that he was gone. The strange twist in his stomach he had only heard other people talk about before he had really gotten to know Yanjun suddenly returned, and he knew, in that second, that whatever this boy would ask him to do, Zhangjing would agree without a second thought. 

Whatever that meant, Zhangjing didn’t think he minded. 

***

“We’re just pulling in here, Yanjun” he pulled into a dark area near the side door of the hotel, glancing up at the brightly illuminated and obviously luxurious building. Yanjun, face moments ago still grinning at a joke Zhangjing had cracked, automatically shifted into his darker stance.

“So this is Hotel Calypso, huh.” Yanjun unbuckled his seatbelt, “Looks stunning.

Zhangjing unbuckled his own and turned his body towards him “Also looks deadly. I saw a procession of agents and bodyguards near the front; the only way we’re getting in is through this side door, and that’s only if I can disable the security system.” 

Yanjun sighed dramatically, “As much as I wanted to go waltzing through the front doors, stunning the crowds, I have to agree with you.” He smirked, “I guess you should get to work then.”

The van they were in had a control panel and tech booth in the back. Zhangjing had built most of the stuff in the place so it wasn’t long before he was typing into a computer, reprogramming files and codes until a click indicated that the door was disabled. Yanjun, having watched him play around with the controls, straightened up when he recognized that Zhangjing had made it in.

“It’s game time, then.” He smoothed out his collar, “Time to go fuck them up.”

“Do you need to look at a picture of the two again? There seems to be a lot of people, and we don’t want you messing with the wrong target.”

“Nah, I don’t need to see them again.” He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt suggestively, “I’ll get going then.”

“Remember that the needles are behind your left ear, and that the mic and communications device is on the right. Tune in on me every once in a while so I can tell you what’s up.” Zhangjing chided, “And if they find you out, there are blades around your legs.”

  
  
  


“Yeah, yeah. Zhangjing we’ve done this together so many times. You don’t need to worry about me.” 

Zhangjing sighed, “I’m more worried for them, to be honest.” 

Yanjun opened the door of the van, stepping out into the damp air, “As you should be. He began to swing the door shut, “Wish me luck!”

“Be careful, Yanjun!” Zhangjing called after him even when the door was closed.

As Yanjun boarded the steps up to the side door and slipped through it like a shadow, Zhangjing closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He would never know why Yanjun had approached him all those years ago, specifically looking for his help even when there were so many other more skilled, cuter guys willing. But the times like these, where he could be part of whatever mission Yanjun was on and be his link out of the dark world they felt around in, made him pretty damn glad he did. 


	15. Yanjun

Smoothing his hair back with a hand one more time, Yanjun slipped into the crowds of people filtering around the sickly classical music, wine and champagne glasses in their hands. He breathed in the overwhelming smell of too much perfume and cologne, and readjusted his suit coat in the way he knew he would get attention. 

Hotel Calypso was holding a black and white formal that night, a party thrown by some crazy rich investor for agency and business higher ups to attend and mingle. 

The mission was simple: go find the two targets him and Zhangjing had been poring over for the past couple of days, seduce both of them, then kill them once they told him the locations of some of the SM bases. Yanjun smirked with the thought of what was to come; he wasn’t a saint, he didn’t hate his job.

A light crackling sounded from his ear, “Lin Yanjun. Get your ass moving around the venue.” Zhangjing was hissing, a clear indication that Yanjun already had triggered the stress button on him. He smiled inwardly; Zhangjing could usually be cute and sweet, but during a job, he could be the roughest, most stressed person alive.

Yanjun began to move slowly through the crowd as if he was intent on making new connections and securing more business deals. He took a glass of champagne from a server milling around the room, and as he raised it to his lips, he became aware of a few pairs of eyes on him. 

He casually glanced in their direction, only to notice that the gazes were mainly from a group of extremely stylish women and one or two guys, none of which resembled the lean, deathly handsome face of target A, or the more rugged look of target B. Still, he ran his tongue slowly over his bottom lip, knowing exactly how it would look to the rest of them, and was rewarded by a couple of excited whispers and hushed giggles. All the best: if he could get them whispering to other people about the crazy hot business man that had just walked in, he would have a higher chance of finding his target.

Yanjun continued to mill about the room, flirting generously with a couple of more dignified faces, presenting himself as a foreign businessman for textiles and listening animatedly to their pathetic attempts at seduction. As a master at the art, he felt like he had the right to judge them for their flirtations, having analysed and practiced it as a study for most of his life.

“Go check by that beverage table; I think target A might be there,” Zhangjing muttered from his earpiece, “I think he’s the one in the white suit.” Zhangjing had an earpiece behind Yanjun’s ear, and the contact lens in his right eye had been integrated with a built in camera Zhangjing had invented. 

He strode slowly over to the table, plastering on his most seductive, arrogant smirk. Indeed, he noticed, when he got closer, there was target A, sipping on a glass of wine, discussing something with another man across him. He was handsome, with a soft face and light brown hair. Yanjun inwardly cheered that he was, at least, attractive.

Yanjun slid smoothly into the seat in front of him, leaning his elbow on the polished black marble surface. Target A latched his dark eyes onto him, and, seeing the slight dilation of his pupils and momentary opening of mouth, Yanjun knew he had got him.

“Go for it” Zhangjing whispered, “He definitely thinks you’re hot.”

“So, who are you, pretty boy?” He began slowly, smirking so that his dimples would show, “Not everyone here seems as interesting as you do.”

Target A retaliated, dropping his eyelids. Huh. He might be a little better than he thought. “Kim Jungwoo.” He sipped on his wine again, “And you?”

“Li Ruotian,” the named slipped off his tongue with ease, “But you can call me anytime.”

Jungwoo scoffed at his cheesy pick-up line, but still fixed his eyes up and down Yanjun’s face, “You’re gonna have to do a bit better, Ruotian.”

“Oh really? I was under the pretense that you were already checking me out from across the room.” He had no way of knowing this of course, only having noticed this guy in the past five minutes, but watching the way the corner of his lips curved up a little, he knew he wasn’t wrong.

“Maybe I was just taking a peek.” Jungwoo lifted his glass to him, tilting his head down, “To handsome strangers you meet at formal events.”

Yanjun clinked his glass against his before downing the rest of his drink. He waited for Jungwoo to finish his before he leaned a bit closer.

“Handsome, huh.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively, “So you do think I’m hot.”

Jungwoo smiled back, “Look around you. Practically everyone has their eyes on you right now.”

Yanjun put a hand on his thigh before practically purring, “Oh? But maybe I want only one pair on me right now.”

Jungwoo glanced down at the hand on his thigh before looking up and smirking, “My room?”

Yanjun nodded.

***

They were barely inside the dimly lit room before Jungwoo was roughly clashing his lips against Yanjun’s, tongue darting out obscenely and tracing the outline of his bottom lip. Yanjun groaned as he was pushed against the door, aware of the pair of hands on the back of his neck. He kissed his target harder, sucking on his tongue, before pulling away, breathless.

Jungwoo looked straight at him, dark lust broiling in his gaze, and groaned when Yanjun began snaking a hand up his shirt. 

“Christ,” he moaned again, “You’re fucking good at this.” Yanjun knew this; he had had too many people say that. There was a reason he was the top in his department back at SM. 

He leaned in and again claimed Jungwoo’s lips for himself, gently sucking in his bottom lip. Jungwoo reached lower, palming at his crotch. They continued like that a bit more, lips becoming coated in saliva, before Yanjun found himself abruptly turned and pressed onto the bed.

Within seconds, Jungwoo was straddling him, “God, I can’t take it. How the hell are you so hot?” He pressed his thumb to Yanjun’s mouth, moaning when he stuck out a tongue to lick it.

Yanjun began to put both of his hands underneath Jungwoo’s shirt before finding them suddenly pressed above his head.

“No, no. I’m in charge.” If there was something common about the bed dynamics of powerful men, it was that all of them loved being in control. Yanjun groaned loudly, twisting his lower body against the man’s crotch, and even louder when Jungwoo attached his mouth at his neck. 

Breathless, he panted out, “Christ, Jungwoo, can you get a move on?” Jungwoo sucked at a soft point near his collarbone, before gently unbuttoning his shirt.

“I’ll make you feel good, baby.” He continued to husk, unwrapping the layers of Yanjun’s clothing one by one, “Real fucking good.”

Yanjun leaned back and closed his eyes, basking in the feeling of a pair of hands roaming across his body. Concentrating a little harder, he was able to will himself completely hard and needy with a very different image in his mind.

***

Somewhere in the middle of Dongwoo pounding into him, Yanjun wrapped his legs around his waist and pulled him closer into himself. He began to moan loudly in Dongwoo’s ear as he quickly slipped the needle out from behind his left ear. As Dongwoo began groaning into his collarbone, obviously nearing his high, Yanjun brought the needle tantalizingly close to his neck.

When Dongwoo came, body shuddering from the force of his orgasm, Yanjun plunged the needle into his neck. 

It wasn’t long before Yanjun came as well, sloppily coming over Dongwoo’s fist as he pumped him to completion. After that, he didn’t wait. 

In a flash, he slipped the blade from behind his ankle, and held it to Dongwoo’s still panting neck. The man was still buried in him, but it didn’t prevent the sudden shock from blooming over his face.

“Ruotian?” he said unsurely, in genuine confusion. Yanjun smiled, before pulling Dongwoo out of him. 

“You’re a pretty good fuck, Kim Jungwoo,” he husked back, still holding the blade millimeters away from his throat, “SM Agency official.”

“If this is a joke, it’s not a good one.”

Yanjun scoffed. How come they all seemed to think that way? “No, it’s not a joke.” He pushed himself up into a sitting position, “I should stop with all of those, should I?”

“Yes, you should.” Jungwoo was nervous, he could tell, but still held a degree of composement, “What’s going on?”

“I should tell you who I really am. Lin Yanjun. Ever heard of that name?” 

Jungwoo’s eyes widened, “Were you part of the escaped group of trainees of SM’s C branch?”

“Spot on, baby.” Yanjun leaned forward so that the blade was now touching his skin, and that he could press a light kiss onto Dongwoo’s parted lips, “One of the Aces of the group.”

Dongwoo sucked in a breath, “What do you want from me?” 

“What do I want from you? Oh baby. So considerate, so kind.”

“You’re part of the Retributation. Of course you want something from me.”

Yanjun cocked an eyebrow arrogantly, “Oh? Maybe it’ll be you begging me for something later on.” He gently ran the knife against his throat, “I’ll get right down to business. My name is Lin Yanjun, and yes, I was part of the escaped group of trainees, and yes, I am part of the Retribution. During our sex, I injected a drug inside you that causes a slow, painful death over the course of an hour.” He smirked at the alarm in the man’s eyes, “You’re going to die, Dongwoo.”

Dongwoo suddenly made a movement to knock the blade away from Yanjun’s hands. Yanjun subdued him with less force than he thought he would need, “Man, are all SM agents this weak now?”

“You’re a liar,” Dongwoo spat from underneath Yanjun’s body, “Give me the fucking antidote.”

“Oh, but there is no antidote? Our medical branch brewed it up perfectly to produce this slow, agonizing death.” He leaned closer into his face, “Tell me you know that; I’ll bet you already feel the nausea.”

Dongwoo looked furious, though the fear was prominent in his eyes, “Then kill me. I’m dead anyways.”

Yanjun picked up the blade from beside him again and teasingly traced it around the perimeter of his face, “Nuh uh uh. I’m gonna give you an option. Be a good boy and tell baby the locations of the SM officials houses and bases you know, and maybe Yanjun will put you out of your misery.” 

Dongwoo looked hesitant at first, but the sudden wave of blinding pain Yanjun knew the drug was programmed for washed over him, and his face immediately contorted. He screamed.

“Scream all you like. The party guests are just going to think that we’re fucking. They won’t do anything.” He kissed him again, enjoying how even that touch sent a tremor of pain through Dongwoo’s body, “Only I will, and that’s only if you’re good to daddy.”

Dongwoo shook helplessly underneath him, but only sobbed out when Yanjun roughly twisted the flesh on his thigh, knowing that the pain would be multiplied ten-fold. 

“Fuck, fuck, make it stop! I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you. Just stop it!” He screamed, a new wave of agony surging through him as the drug intensified inside him.

Yanjun only smiled. 

***

Yanjun wiped the blade one last time on the bed sheets before restrapping it onto his leg. He looked back at the limp man on the bed, eyes glassy and pooling with blood. Yanjun had been merciful: a quick slash to his neck and it was over. For a second, he almost felt guilty for killing such a handsome man. But the thought of murdered trainees and unmerciful agents like Dongwoo quickly dissolved that thought.

He straightened up, dusting off his suit, which thankfully stayed generally untouched. With one last glance at target A, he turned and exited through the door, listening to the sharp click as it buried the dead man inside it. 

He ran one hand through his silver hair, sighing when it still stuck up a bit. It was fine; the slightly messy hair might attract the next target.

Which reminded him: he should get started on the next one before the night was over. Strangely enough, Zhangjing hadn’t tuned it yet. Usually the boy would dial in right after the deed was done, leaving him his privacy while he was having sex. But so far, he hadn’t heard so much as a peep from him. He smirked, Zhangjing’s words to be careful echoing through him again. The mission had turned out fine, didn’t it?

He raised a finger to behind his right ear, “Hey Zhangjing. Did you get that?”

But while he anticipated the slightly exasperated, nervous voice Zhangjing had after he had watched and listened to Yanjun have sex, all he could hear was static. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whos ur fav viewpoint?


	16. Linong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally nongnong perspective

Linong sat on the edge of his stool, hands placed on its surface as he leaned in closer to the conversation in front of him.

“And here you want to wash the wound with the mixture I just showed you… like nice, light rinses because you don’t want it to sting too bad…” Han Mubo was carefully showing their new acquaintance, Bi Wenjun, something about wound cleaning. After the boy had admitted to them during dinner that he had been a medical school student before, Mubo had grabbed his arm and dragged him off to the medical wing to babble on about some new methods he had been using. Linong had, after a pleading look from Zhengting, who was apparently trying to get Chengcheng and Justin to stop bullying a wailing Quanzhe, pushed his chair back and followed them

He was pretty free that night, Yanjun and Zhangjing having gone on a mission on their own and having already showed Xinchun around the tech center earlier. Besides, he enjoyed spending time in the medical wing, both for the soothing company of the medics and Wenjun, as well as the loud, humourous Zeren and Yanchen. 

Although Linong had heard many people admire his cute accent and smooth voice, he wasn’t a talker himself. He preferred to use actions much more often than words, and the people involved in this work usually enjoyed the adorably quiet Nongnong anyways. He wasn’t like Yanjun, who relished his velvet tongue and dimpled smirks. He was a listener above anything, but for good reason. 

This trait worked pretty well when he was trying to get information from someone (somehow, the targets he encountered always seemed to find something so tempting in his innocent look and wide smile), but was nice as well when he was just hanging out with his friends. Linong enjoyed the sounds the Retributation seemed to make: loud and hushed and diverse and unique.

For instance, right then, Zeren’s high pitched giggle tumbled through the room, quickly followed by Yanchen’s hearty, slightly breathy laugh. Linong wasn’t always the quickest person, but years of assassin and socialite training had made him sharper to most things; He noticed maybe a week in that instead of running off to drive Xingjie or Xukun crazy like he used to do for fun, the other sunshine of the Retributation, Zhou Yanchen, seemed to hurry off to the medical wing at first opportunity.

“Aiyah! Zhou Yanchen! Ding Zeren! You’re gonna make me mess up with how loud you’re being!” Mubo’s annoyed voice boomed out next, “If you make Wenjun mess up somewhere next, I’ll give you a piece of my mind!” Linong had always liked Mubo’s voice; the slight rasp in this every word was extremely comforting when he was receiving medical aid and honestly could be pretty effective when trying to get people to sit still or shut up.

“Don’t worry Mubo-ge, Cheng and Justin make at least twice as much sound as them, and I had to live with them in a single room for years.” Wenjun smiled serenely at Mubo, who winced at the thought.

Linong had just met this Wenjun kid a week before, catching sight of a towering figure looming behind Zhengting in the dim light of the hallways. He was, at first sight, undeniably incredibly attractive. His features were like they were crafted from marble, all glowing skin and sharp corners. He mentioned this one night to Yanjun and Zhangjing, murmuring that this new kid could easily dethrone Yanjun as the next head socialite from his looks alone. Yanjun had looked scandalized, and Zhangjing had howled with laughter. A fun thought, but one that he would very soon learn to not be true. 

Admittedly, looking at Wenjun at how protective he was of Zhengting and the others in his group, Linong thought that he was some other assassin from another company. Take his face and body into consideration, and he would make a pretty good socialite like himself or Yanjun. But surprisingly, over lunch one day, after Linong, curiosity getting the better of him, had asked him what agent work he did, Wenjun smiled and shook his head softly. He explained that he was never an agent: he had been a medical school student. He had barely ever had to fight anyone in his life, though Zhengting did teach him how to use a handgun in case of emergencies.

“ _ Was _ a med school student?” Linong couldn’t help but pry a little.

Wenjun sighed, “Well, yes. Was. I left after I found out my parents were trying to hand me off to some rich investor in their company.” He raised his sandwich to his eyes, studying the sliced cucumber and tomatoes in it, “Wasn’t too keen on getting sold in an arranged marriage.”

Linong had nodded sympathetically and, guilty and surprised that he had shared a seemingly large part of himself with him, had explained that he  _ was _ sold to SM to be trained as an agent, so don’t worry, he wouldn’t judge him or anything. Wenjun had smiled with a slight expression of relief, and Linong had grinned back in his signature sunny way. 

Linong liked Wenjun. He liked the strange accent in his voice he couldn’t exactly pinpoint, and he loved the gentle feel of his voice. It was easy to see why Zhengting would always confide or seek comfort in Wenjun’s arms after Zhengting was stressed out about Zeren’s recovery or after Yanchen had told him how they were now actively trying to take down SM; the tone of Wenjun’s voice was light and comforting and smooth.

Unfortunately, just then, that soft lull of a voice was roughly interrupted by a loud clang of doors, pulling him from his thoughts. He twisted his neck back to see who it was, only to feel the big hands on the top of his head, ruffling up his hair. 

“Linong!” Qin Fen cooed in his jokingly buttery voice, “Could it be that you’re finally agreeing to learn some medical skills?” He laughed at whatever his own joke was supposed to be, before striding past him and pulling Mubo’s head into his chest for a kiss on the forehead. 

“Ugh, stop. Can’t you see I’m showing Wenjun some stuff over here?” Mubo complained, waving his hands around and batting at Fen’s arm.

Wenjun laughed, the tinkling sound trickling around the room. Linong liked Wenjun for this as well. He liked how he didn’t seem to mind to show some vulnerability, and the soft huffs of air or laughs he sometimes made complemented this fact greatly.

He continued to watch Mubo and Fen be all couple like, listening to Yanchen and Zeren’s rapid conversation in the background and exchanging an apologetic glance at Wenjun. 

That is, until the doors to the medical wing clanged open a second time. 

He heard the thudding of feet against the ground first, the characteristic slight trudge at the end of each step instantly indicating to Linong who it was. He had heard those feet numerous times during a mission, but only when they had to make a dash for the door or a weapon. 

Lin Yanjun came crashing into the clearing, making such a loud noise so unsimilar to his usual velvet tread, that even the curtain to Zeren’s bed was yanked open to see what the commotion was. The medical cart with all of Mubo’s tools had been knocked askew, with a panting Yanjun leaning heavily against it. Linong sat up.

“Xu-Xukun,” Yanjun gasped out, eyes darting to Linong’s face, “Where is Xukun?” His best friend’s face was pale, covered in sweat and dirt. There was a long streak of red down his now torn dress shirt, and more dried red splattered on the ends of his silver hair. But above all, his eyes were wild, manic. Linong didn’t see those eyes often, and even then, he knew it wasn’t for a good reason.

“Yanjun!” Qin Fen burst out, rushing forward to support him. Yanjun raised his hand to stop him, still panting heavily. Linong sprang up from his chair and approached him. Yanjun allowed Linong to put a hand on the middle of his back.

“Fen, leave it for now.” Linong could recognize pretty easily now what Yanjun needed to not give himself a heart attack, and medical aid right now wasn’t it, “Yanchen? Have you seen Xukun today?”

Yanchen called out a no. Linong watched Yanjun’s hands clench around the bar on the cart, and desperately looked around him to provide an answer. 

Wenjun-- of course it was Wenjun-- said quietly, “I saw him lurk off to his office after dinner.”

Yanjun was gone in a flash, sprinting for the door and wrenching his body from Linong’s grip. Nongnong sent a thankful nod to Wenjun’s confused face, and rushed out to follow him.

He caught up to him only after Yanjun had dashed into Xukun’s door, not bothering to knock or really twist his hand on the handle. Linong, panting from sprinting after him, forced himself inside to where Yanjun was nearly hysterical, pacing and shouting incomprehensibly in front of a bewildered Xukun. He caught Yanjun by the shoulders and forced him down into a chair.

“Shh, shhhhh. Slow down Yanjun! We can barely understand you!” Xukun was leaning across his desk now, exclaiming to a barely restrained Yanjun. Linong turned to Yanjun, seeing the awful panicked look he rarely had, and somehow knew almost right away.

“Yanjun. Where is Zhangjing?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Xukun freeze and sink back down into his chair. Yanjun’s pupils constricted and dilated rapidly.

“Nong! Zhangjing went missing! One second I was finishing up target A, and next second my earpiece and mic have all gone static. I went back to the parking lot to check up on him, and didn’t see the truck!” He brushed a streak of dirt away from his cheek with too much force than necessary, “I got jumped and barely just got away.”

“What? Where did Zhangjing go?” Xukun’s voice cut in.

“Fuck, man. I’m pretty sure the people that jumped me were also from SM; their fighting styles were so similar to what the trainers usually taught us.” The waver in his voice registered in Linong’s mind.

“Oh my god, Yanjun! You don’t think-”

“Nongnong! There were only two people in that hotel that would be in control of SM agents, and I killed one of them before he could even mingle with anyone.”

Xukun leaned in again across the desk, head now in between Nongnong and Yanjun’s, “So you’re saying one of your targets took him somehow?”

“It’s the only explanation.” Yanjun shot up immediately, “I have to go get him. He could be doing anything to him, we need to act now-” 

“Yanjun! Sit your ass back down in that chair!” Xukun ordered, frowning slightly when he didn’t and continued plotting out rescue details.Linong put his hands on his shoulders and had to fold him onto himself to get him seated back into the chair.

“Xukun!” Yanjun hissed, still struggling under Nong’s fingers, “You Zhangjing doesn’t know assassination work! He’s defenseless!”

“I know that! But you don’t even know what base he could have brought him to!” Linong heard the silent added notion of “or if he’s still alive”, but the thought was so gruesome and horrible his mind rapidly did somersaults to escape from it.

“He’s right, Yanjun. We need to know where they are first. We also need to make a better game plan than just storming in with a solo man screaming for Zhangjing.” 

“Linong, we were trained to be of enough skill to take down whole organizations solo-”

“-yes, but if your prediction is right, we’re going to be walking into SM agents, other people that have that skill.”

Xukun nodded his head, “Yes Yanjun. We might have been the Aces, but that doesn’t mean we can take out a group of SM agents single handedly. We need to find the base and come up with a plan.”

Yanjun finally wriggled free from under Nong’s hands, “Target A gave me a list of all the bases he knew. I’ll go tell Jeffrey or Xiao Gui to analyze them and find which one is that fucker’s.”

Xukun stopped him, “They’re both out on a heist. We don’t have any other techies unless you wanna grab Xingjie.”

Yanjun dug his fingers into his scalp, “Fuck. I need someone really  _ good _ .” Linong was at a loss for words. His mind flickered to awful images of Zhangjing in dark rooms and electronic torturing chambers, before desperately to bash the thoughts away. 

At that moment, a mini miracle happened. 

“You can take Xinchun. He was a computer engineer and software designer major before, and he’s hacked and coded a lot.” Linong turned his head at the smooth voice, seeing Zhengting’s slender form leaned against the door frame. He looked back at Xukun’s now stoney and cold face.

For a second, no one moved. Then, Xukun raised from his chair and slammed his fist down onto his desk. “Did we ask?” Xukun hissed out.“We didn’t ask for your help, Zhengting. You weren’t supposed to eavesdrop on our conversations.”

“No, but you need it. Yanjun, let’s go.”

“No. Linong, go get Xingjie.” 

Zhengting stared at Xukun, bright fiery gaze boring into the ice. Linong felt a desperate squeeze of his hand on his thigh, and got up abruptly.

“Xukun. Zhengting’s right. We need to get this location and coding right on our first try, or else we’ll raise suspicion and Zhangjing might get hurt.” He glanced at Yanjun grimace beside him, “Xingjie can’t ensure that level of precision every time.”

Xukun glared at him, but seeing Linong’s indication of an even paler and now shaking Yanjun, relented, “Okay, Zhengting. Get your ass over there. Make sure what Xinchun is doing isn’t gonna fuck anything up.” Linong felt him being yanked out his chair and whipped out the door. He caught a final glimpse of Xukun’s deathly pale face now ordering for Ziyi to be sent over to come see him. His expression was foul, contorted by stress and nervousness and muted rage. But in his eyes, he saw the subdued longing and Linong knew.

He continued to be dragged down the hall by Yanjun, listening to Zhengting’s screeches for Xinchun slightly in front of him. However, despite the iron grip on his wrist, he could feel the slight shake and increased pulse beneath the skin. He ground his feet slightly into the ground, eventually slowing Yanjun’s relentless charge forward. 

Yanjun turned around in bewilderment, confused on why Linong was slowing them down. Zhengting, hearing the commotion, also stopped abruptly and turned around. 

“Chen Linong. What the hell are you doing?” Yanjun’s voice was shaking, an occurrence that had only happened once before in him and Linong’s shared history.

“Yanjun. If you don’t calm down, I’m seriously going to think that you’re gonna pass out.” Yanjun glared at him, but couldn’t seem to find words to retort.

Zhengting came over, looping an arm around Yanjun’s waist and leaning into him, “He’ll be okay, Yanjun. Zhangjing’s tough.”

Linong guessed that Yanjun would say even before he opened his mouth, “It’s not about that! It’s my fucking fault that I made my prescence too obvious so that people noticed us! I turned off my mic and earpiece when I was finishing the first one, and fuck, I didn’t pay attention to him! Do you know, Zhengting, Linong, what he said to me? What he says to me before every mission?”

Linong is about to answer when he’s cut off again, “He told me to be careful! And I didn’t say it back and now  _ fuck  _ I have no idea where he is and what the hell is happening to him!” He turns and buries his head into Linong’s chest. Linong raises his arms around his back, and with Zhengting, embraces his shaking form.

“It wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t your fault…” He murmurs, softly, feeling Yanjun’s hot breath coming fast and shallow onto his chest, “He’ll be okay, we know that…”

Zhengting pats him once more on the back, and Yanjun cracks, shaking hard in their arms. Linong continues to smother him in his embrace until he doesn’t move anymore, and his breaths are deeper and more filling. 

When they separate and continue to go search for Xinchun, Linong looks at the two boys beside him.

Yanjun’s eyes are slightly red, but, in true Yanjun fashion, he has yet to shed a tear. He’s still shaking slightly, and the guilt and tension in his eyes are unmistakable. Linong  _ knows  _ what he’s feeling because if there is anyone he can really read like a book, it would be his best friend.

Zhengting is pale, his jaw set and tense. Linong still sees the Ace Zhengting he had first met him by: hard and determined and set and deadly. Even after so many years, the fire ablaze in his gaze still send Linong’s stomch to flop crazily with nervousness. 

But as both of them turn back to him to send him an increasingly determined look, he can’t help but think of what all three of them don’t want the most. And he’s afraid, desperately afraid, of what might be happening to Zhangjing.

  
  
  
  



	17. Zhangjing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter deals with sensitive topics including rape. not overly graphic but u have been warned

Zhangjing felt the hard dig of something into his side, and winced in spite of himself. His head was pounding so hard he could feel his pulse in his ears. As he swallowed carefully, he registered the hard surface of a wall set behind his back.

He opened his eyes, but was met with darkness. He shook his head, feeling the rush of pain to it as he did, but was rewarded with a crack of light towards the top of his vision. He tried to lift his hands up to his face to remove whatever was obstructing his sight, but realized with a grunt that his hands were secured firmly behind his back.

The blindfold was ripped off, and Zhangjing had to blink his eyes a couple of times to adjust to the light that suddenly assaulted him. His head continued to pound, but through his hazy vision and rapid blinking, he saw the face of a man peering ruggedly into his face.

“Ah good. You’re awake.” The man roughly pats Zhangjing’s cheek before grinning at his confused face.

Zhangjing squinted hard, and feeling the throbbing in his head ease, focused his eyes on a ruggedly handsome man with dark hair and imposing eyebrows. Licking his lips once, he tried to say something, but the dryness and thickness in his throat prevented him from making any discernible comments.

“Ah, sorry about that. We had to gas you to get you. Sometimes messes with the voice.” He lifts Zhangjing’s chin towards him, “Fortunately, we need your voice.” He reaches to a table near him and, eyes not moving from Zhangjing’s, brings over a glass of water. 

As he tried to lift the glass to his lips, Zhangjing forced his lips shut. He might not have been an assassin, but he wasn’t stupid. Instead of accepting the drink, he turned his head away from the man, before feeling a hand roughly wrench his face back to a forward facing position.

The man’s eyes were dark brown, but they weren’t kind like he wanted to help him. They were amused and taunting and arrogant and mean. Zhangjing shuddered slightly at the sight, cursing himself for allowing the ripple of nervousness flow over him. The man noticed the movement, and, smiling slightly, suddenly dumped the water over Zhangjing’s head. 

He gasps at the cold, letting some of the water drip into his mouth. The man smirked again. “That’s good. Your throat sounds like it’s cleared now.”

Zhangjing’s face is still being forcibly held by the man’s head, but he manages to rasp out a couple words around the fingers squishing his cheeks. “Who are you?”

The man smiled, darkly handsome features curving into a menacing leer, “I’m Hendery Huang, an official at SM Agency.” 

Hearing the name, Zhangjing’s brain suddenly clicks into place. His eyes widened, suddenly remembering the events before he blacked out in the van. They had been at that hotel, taking out the two targets for info, and Yanjun… 

“What the fuck did you do to Yanjun?” 

Hendery cocked an eyebrow, “You shouldn’t be worrying about him right now, You Zhangjing.” He grinned, “He’s dead.”

Zhangjing laughs, earning a harder grip on his face, “Yanjun probably ambushed your men, killed them all, and escaped.” He saw the sudden twitch of Hendery’s left eye, and knew he hit gold, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Perhaps you are.” The man turned his face slightly, inspecting him like a piece of meat, “But he didn’t save you.” Zhangjing smiled again, gazing back almost lazily. It was true, Yanjun hadn’t. But now that he could think a little clearer, he knew that Yanjun also knew that it would be much too risky, and above all stupid, to storm single handedly in a fifty kilometer radius around the Hotel Calypso to see which direction the trucks had probably gone with him. 

“For good reason.” He leaned back into the wall, relaxing and cocking his own eyebrow, “Why don’t you just finish me off, Target B?” 

Hendery wrapped his hand even tighter around his face, guaranteeing to Zhangjing new bruises across his face, “You know why, You Zhangjing, one of the lead tech agents of the Retributation.”

He wasn’t wrong. Zhangjing knew that killing him would be foolish: a member of the Retributation would be very valuable in cracking for information and hostage material. Besides, the bounty above his head at this point should be enough for a reason. Still, he didn’t say anything, staring back at his captor mocking face.

“I’m gonna hand you over to the SM higher ups as soon as I can. Bet it’ll land some  _ resources and opportunities _ for my subgroup.” He suddenly raised his other hand, fingers brushing tantalizingly around his throat, “But you should be able to help me a little, right?” He coos a couple times, leaning his face closer, “Why don’t you tell me a little more about your base and your  _ friends _ ?” 

Zhangjing spat hard at his face. Hendery yowled with anger, slamming Zhangjing’s head into the wall behind him, making him see stars, “I see how this is. You’re so cute, Zhangjing. Don’t make me hurt you.” 

“Hurt me then. You won’t get anything from me.” He continued to stare back at Hendery’s dark gaze, “You should have expected this when you gassed and grabbed me out of that van.”

He grit his teeth, expecting another slam against the wall. Instead, the hand on his face loosens. “Oh I can’t rip you up too badly. They would kill me for messing up a captive and Retributator’s pretty little head.” He caresses Zhangjing cheek with one hand, the other still dancing around his throat, “But you’re just so cute Zhangjing.” He presses his thumb to Zhangjing’s mouth, peering greedily into Zhangjing’s steady gaze, “Has anyone told you that before?”

He stared back at him, silent; he wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. 

“I need you to tell me about your little group, but since you’re not going to, you’re going to help me with something else.”

“I won’t.”

“You’ll have to.” He leans in again, uncomfortably close to Zhangjing’s face and hot breaths falling on his lips, “I was going to have some fun tonight at the party. But you and that slut Yanjun had to come and mess me up.” He tutted gently, seeing the sudden confusion bloom over Zhangjing’s expression. “Yanjun helped out with Jungwoo, even though the idiot couldn’t see what that  _ whore _ was trying to do.”

Zhangjing still didn’t understand, knowing that his ignorance was reflected on his face when Hendery suddenly leered.

“You should help me out a little before you leave, Zhangjing. We should become  _ friends _ ; I mean, we do have a week to get to know each other before they come pick you up.” He pulls open Zhangjing’s lips again, and the fingers around his throat begin to dip into his collarbone. 

Suddenly realizing what he means, Zhangjing’s eyes widen. The brief display of weakness doesn’t go unnoticed by Hendery.

“Oh? Don’t wanna have some fun? I’m sure you appreciate a good lay as much as the next man.”

Zhangjing tried to retort with something scathing, something cynical and arrogant that wouldn’t give away his now quickly racing heart, but the words die on his lips and an awful twist of  _ fear  _ rips through his abdomen instead. Desperately, he tries to mask the sudden nervousness and loss for words with just pointed silence, but he can’t stop himself from swallowing once. He wasn’t trained for this; he wasn’t like Yanjun or Nong. 

Something in the man’s eyes morphed gleefully, “A virgin! You should have told me, Zhangjing, I would have prepared somewhere nicer!”

“No. Don’t.” The words are out before he can stop them, “No.” 

Hendery began to pin Zhangjing to the floor of the room, clear glee and lust painted all over his ruggedly handsome face, “So cute. I knew there was something pure about you. So adorable and innocent and pure.”

“Stop! Hendery! Stop!” He feels the hands creep lower down his torso, until they’re at his hips.

“I never would have thought. I always thought you were sleeping with that whore. Such a shame he couldn’t have seen you in this state, all panicked and cute and flustered.”

Zhangjing wrenched against the handcuffs around his wrists, stomach curling awfully at the reference to Yanjun.

“No, please. Hendery. Please, stop-” He feels the rough press of lips against his in a second, all dominating and lustful and rough. Nothing sweet nor soft like he had dreamed his first kiss to be like; it was all fear and heavy breathing and teeth biting hard at his mouth. Zhangjing tries to knee him, only to be pinned down harder and straddled. 

Hendery continued his assault on Zhangjing’s mouth, hands now darting unashamedly under Zhangjing’s shirt. He squirms hard at the feeling of foreign hands upon him, and tries to bite Hendery’s tongue licking into his mouth.

Hendery separates from him with a hiss, “Fiesty little virgin, aren’t you? Don’t worry, you’ll be moaning so hard soon that you won’t want to fight back.”

Zhangjing struggles under him, snarling, “Hendery, stop. You-” He’s cut off by Hendery’s hand jamming into his windpipe.

“Still mouthy?” He laughs, other hand suddenly tearing Zhangjing’s shirt away. His other hand roughly smooths over the curves of Zhangjing’s body, and, unable to control it, Zhangjing shrieks.

“Ah well, screaming is even better than moaning.” Hendery begins to bite at Zhangjing’s neck and collarbone, other hand relentlessly fondling his body, “You’re gonna be screaming for a while.” Zhangjing continues to gasp at the wet sensation, a horrible dread coursing icily through his body.

He shrieks again as Hendery tears open his pants, and again when he latches his mouth onto his torso and even lower. He screams when he touches him, writhing against his bonds and thrashing against the dirty, hard hands fondling the curve of his hip and chest.

Hendery wasn’t completely right though. He stops screaming when Hendery shoves into him, sending a shock of white hot, blinding pain through his spine. He stares instead, and, even though he hates it, he groans as the foreign man pummels into him, ripping him open and sending blood and juices coursing down his inner thighs.

He stares at the ceiling as the man begins to move.

***

Once, a little after they had just met, Zhangjing had been lying beside Nongnong on his bed, a placid Yanjun cross legged and holding both of their heads in his lap. He had been so, so relaxed, that when Nongnong asked the question, he replied almost lazily.

“No. I haven’t slept with anyone.” He traced his fingers absentmindedly across Yanjun’s thigh, softly drawing circles on his firm muscles.

Linong whistled, a little strained, “Dang, a virgin hanging out with two of the biggest sluts of the entire agency.” Yanjun forced out a barking laugh, but the slight grimace on his face vanished as Zhangjing suddenly sat up.

“Shut up. You guys aren’t like that.” Zhangjing slapped Linong’s arm and glaring, “It’s your job, not your choice.”

“And your choice?” He heard Yanjun’s voice beside him, strangely dark and low. Linong, who had previously been chuckling softly, suddenly went quiet. 

Zhangjing turned to Yanjun, surveying his quietly intense gaze. “I want to save myself for… the one, you know?”

Yanjun scoffed, “You believe in love?”

Zhangjing’s voice was level, “Weird thing is, I do.” He dropped the tension in his shoulders and broke his face into a wide smile, “And I want it to be with a handsome prince to sweep me off my feet in a golden crown and kiss me as we ride off into the sunset!”

Linong burst into laughter, and Zhangjing sent a sheepish grin to his direction. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Yanjun pause for a second, lost in whatever tangent he was on, before slowly chuckling as well.

He couldn’t stop replaying that pause in his mind all throughout the rest of that night.

***

Somewhere in between, Zhangjing was flipped over, face pressed into the floor, hips high in the air as Hendery continued to slam into him. He listened to the man groan and recognized the snap of his hips as he continued to slide in and out of him. He could sense the blood and liquids gushing down the inside of his thighs, but couldn’t feel them.

He shut himself down at the very beginning, letting the hollowness permeate the cracks underneath his skin as he bit the inside of his cheek. It felt like a torrent of heavy, thick, hot rain had descended over him: drowning and suffocating and inescapable.

For some reason, Yanjun’s slightly lost, composed face was flickering across his mind. The way his mouth had slightly opened, eyebrows had relaxed as he paused before joining Zhangjing and Linong’s mirth again. He had looked so soft in that moment, not all hard angles and sculpted features. Innocent, even though even Zhangjing had to admit that was the last word to usually describe him. 

He held onto his face for a moment more, before clouding it over in his brain. He shut his eyes tightly, clenching his teeth when he felt the thrusts into him increase in force and speed. Disgust and shame rushed over him like a wave, that he would dare pull up Yanjun’s one soft, vulnerable face when he was being violated underneath another man he didn’t know. 

Zhangjing moaned into the ground then, overwhelmed with pain and shame and disgust. Hendery took it as a sign that he was enjoying it finally, and reached over to run his hand over his body. He continued his assault into him, until Zhangjing couldn’t stop groaning with the sheer force of it all and he finally felt him pull out of him. 

As soon as Hendery let go of him, he fell onto the ground, tired and worn and dirty.

_ Yanjun. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. _

Somewhere above him, muffled and incoherent, he could hear words fall through from Hendery’s mouth. Zhangjing didn’t move, just closed his eyes and sunk himself through the hard floor. He felt a trail of some hot liquid slowly trickling down his inner thigh, pooling underneath it and setting fire in its wake.

He was still burning when the door shut on Hendery’s way out.


	18. Justin

Before he met Fan Chengcheng, Justin had always felt like he was on the edge. Like a piece of paper, rippling in the breeze as he swayed dangerously on the tip of a cliff. 

He didn’t exactly mind it: he loved the feeling of danger coursing through his body, the empty, rush of adrenaline coursing pooling at his stomach every time he risked his life on a mission or just being dumb.

Zhengting hated it. Despite him being the Ace and having the skill to kill in seconds with his bare hands, he still scolded Justin every time he ran off to raid somewhere or mindlessly charged at someone when they cat-called at Zhengting when they passed through the city at night. 

And that time he almost wrestled Zeren off an actual cliff. Zeren had had his entire upper body suspended in midair, before Zhengting slammed them off to the side so hard, Justin thought he broke one of his ribs. They had then proceeded to scream and cry at him for the next hour, Wenjun patting his back reassuringly. Xinchun had hit both him and Zeren on the backs of their heads, and Quanzhe had been sobbing at seeing Zeren almost topple off the edge.

He pouted and cried and whined when they scolded him, chased him. Laughed when they threatened to strangle them if he didn’t stop worrying them.

He loved it all, the attention, the thrill, the danger. He didn’t even know he really did need the stability until he lugged Chengcheng back from that ticking building.

Chengcheng had been fun overall: dangerous and rough and risky like him after he had gotten over his initial sullenness. Justin found a partner in crime that day he found the bloody body in the dust and had almost choked him to death; the two of them were inseparable, beating up random hordes of mobs, stealing from trucks of meat, putting green hair dye into Zeren’s shampoo. 

There was something new though, after Chengcheng came, even though he couldn’t really describe it. All he did know was that he always felt more… safe than before when he grabbed Chengcheng’s hand and leaped off the side of a twenty foot high bridge into the water. Justin had hit the surface of the water with the force of a bullet, the impact sending a torrent of pain slamming through him. He didn’t really mind. He was used to the pain, and had done it a thousand times before. But somehow, this time, instead of feeling like he would break apart and float away as light and fragile as foam, Justin felt himself anchored. The grip of Chengcheng’s fingers around his, and later on, the lasting throb on his stomach after Cheng had punched him for convincing him to jump with him: they all seemed to weigh him down a little.

He continued to feel that way after they returned home. Zhengting had strangled them both for nearly killing themselves, only stopping when Wenjun peeled him off them, but Justin had clutched Chengcheng’s arm through the entire thing and, instead of feeling terrified like he usually was when Zhengting  _ really  _ got mad, he felt  _ safe _ . 

Considering that he lived to end the lives of others, this was a pretty weird statement. 

But just like that, Chengcheng became his anchor. The rest of the guys were still his home, the roof over his head, but Cheng was the rocks that formed the base to it and weighed it down. 

Justin didn’t know he needed the rocks until Chengcheng had come, until he, for the first time, felt wrong about leaving anywhere without him. He felt wrong when he laughed too loud and Chengcheng didn’t hit him for it, and when he drove Zhengting crazy and Chengcheng wasn’t there to cower beside him. He felt wrong when he lied and swindled his way into taverns and bars without Chengcheng to smirk somewhere beside him.

He was still leaning over that edge, but this time, he felt like he could reach out further knowing that a pair of arms was holding him back.

Which is exactly why it felt so  _ right  _ when Chengcheng raised his voice to go with him on Xukun’s mission.

Early in the afternoon, Xukun had called a meeting for the Retributation, and, even though he had been halfway through reloading his gun for sharpshooting training, he came unquestioningly with Chengcheng and Zhengting behind him.

They had all been gathered in the common room, a large area with too many different couches and too many mismatched carpets. Xingjie had once explained to him that Nongnong, Yanchen, Zhangjing, and Yanjun had once been tasked with buying the furniture, but had come back with four different kinds because they couldn’t decide which one was the best. 

He settled down in one of the softer couches and dragged Chengcheng in beside him. The other boy sighed before sinking into the soft upholstery and readjusting his body in the cotton. Zhengting sunk in beside him, and soon, he felt Wenjun and Xinchun’s presence behind him. 

He looked around. In the bright red couch, he could see Xiao Gui and Xingjie muttering to each other about something, and beside them, a surprisingly prim Yanjun threading his fingers anxiously between each other. Nongnong appeared a little later, and, without a word, rested himself on the arm of the couch and draped a comforting arm around Yanjun’s shoulders.

In another, much larger couch, he saw some of the snipers and bodyguards lounging, chatting lightly to each other. Bu Fan and Yue Yue were watching as Ziyang wrestled Lingchao into the cushions. Ruibin and Chaoze were teasing Dinghao for something, the latter blushing hard and giggling all over. Justin turned back to grin knowingly at Chengcheng, before both of them snuck a glance at a red cheeked Xinchun. 

Wenjun’s light hum jerked Justin’s head towards the door again. Yanchen was helping a slightly wincing Zeren walk through the hall, Qin Fen, Mubo, and Quanzhe following close behind. Zhengting sprang up to help Zeren, who batted his hand away when he got closer. 

Chengcheng squeezed his arm when Zhengting’s face fell into a scowl at Zeren’s arm around Yanchen’s neck, and laughed with him when he began to lightly whine that  _ he _ was his mother, not Yanchen. Justin turned again to meet Chengcheng’s gleeful eyes, and felt himself relaxing into the soft sanctuary of Cheng’s chest.

As soon as Zeren was settled in carefully into the last fluffy white couch, Justin saw Xukun slip in through the doors, Ziyi and Jeffrey by his side. He felt Zhengting’s hand close around his, and tried not to wince at the sudden clench around it.

“Hey guys.” Xukun addressed the now quiet group of people. “I needed to call you guys here for another mission.” Justin raised his eyebrows in surprise: Xukun was never really vocal to anyone other than those in their trainee group, so it was weird seeing him speak so casually and leader-like to a group of different boys. However, before he could think about it any more, Zhengting’s tight grip on his hand dragged him back to focus on Xukun.

“A lot of you probably know this already, but, on Yanjun and Zhangjing’s mission yesterday, Zhangjing was captured by one of the SM officials.” A ripple of silent nervousness passes through the group, and even Justin has to drop the relaxed attitude they had all had in the room. 

Of course they all knew. There were no secrets in the group, and besides, Zhengting staying late in the tech center with Nong and Yanjun was enough to tell them that something was wrong.

“Jeffrey has filtered through the data about Hendery Huang, and he’s deduced that he’s being held near Guangzhou, at SM’s base F that Yanjun got the location for last night.” Xukun pauses a little, resting his eyes on a clearly not proud nor paying attention Yanjun. Justin sees him rubbing his eyes anxiously, Nongnong still pulling him near him. “We need to form a team of six to go get him.” Instantly, the room breaks out into discussion. Xukun hushes them.

“I’m going this time, so while I’m gone, Ziyi is gonna hold down the fort. I’m bringing Xingjie as my partner because he’s the only agent that sort of knows tech and also how to kick ass.” He nods to Yanjun and Linong, “Of course, Yanjun and Nong are gonna go as a team. And for the last group, I want Yanchen to be paired up with Chaoze-” 

“No, Chaoze is still hurt from his last mission,” Yanchen’s voice calls out from beside Zeren, shooting an apologetic look at Chaoze’s indignant face, “We don’t want his stitches to open up again.”

Xukun bites his bottom lip in frustration. Justin doesn’t miss the way Zhengting swallows at the movement. “Right. I’m sorry Chaoze. I forgot, I’m sorry. What about Dinghao?”

“Definitely no.” Ziyi cuts in firmly, “Dinghao and Yanchen are too crazy to control when they’re partners.”

Yanchen opens his mouth before quickly shuting it again. Dinghao didn’t even seem to be paying attention.

“Then what other pairing has a hand to hand combat specialist and a sharpshooter?” Xukun said sarcastically, ruffling his hair.

Justin feels himself jump up, unable to control himself. He catches Zhengting’s eyes flash a warning, but its balanced out by another flash (admittedly much more excited) from Chengcheng beside him and he knows that  _ that’s _ gonna be the look that convinces him. “Me! Me! Send me and Cheng!”

Xukun glares daggers at him, “Huang Minghao, this isn’t a fucking joke. Our friend’s life is on the line and you’re still joking around?”

Justin opens his mouth in exaggerated offense, “Cai Xukun! I was in your trainee group at SM! And Chengcheng was the ACE of JYP!” He feels Chengcheng squeeze his waist lightly, and knows that he should continue, “He can hit a moving target straight on from a mile away, and probably the best sniper in the world!” He grins sheepishly, “Sorry, Chaoze, Dinghao.”

Xukun thinks for a moment, staring at Justin and furrowing his eyebrows. “Okay, let’s just put Chengcheng with Yanchen then.” 

“No.” Chengcheng growls, and Justin feels a surge of affection for the blond boy beside him. “Justin and I are a team. We have to go together.”

Xukun scowls, “Can anyone actually confirm your skills?”

Justin looks excitedly at Zhengting, but his mood falls fast when he sees the stony expression he has on his face. Interestingly, Yanchen’s cheery voice chimes in. “Justin’s improved a lot. He almost broke my rib in a fight we had a couple of days ago. Chengcheng hasn’t ever missed when he’s shooting, and his hand to hand combat is roughly the same level as Justin’s.” He smiles at the unquestionably delighted face Justin is making, “Besides, they’re a duo. You can’t take apart duos.”

Xukun thinks again, before finally conceding, “Fine. Then it’s decided-”

“No.” Zhengting’s voice is low, “There is no way in hell I’m letting Justin and Cheng go infiltrate a highly guarded and dangerous SM base.”

“I’m sorry but I didn’t seem to hear your opinion when we were actually discussing this-”

“I said no. They’re not going.” Justin glances nervously at Chengcheng, whose face shows that he also registers the sudden leap in tension. The room is silent, everyone watching the unmoving glares Zhengting and Xukun are sending each other. 

Xukun breaks it first, “I said they’re going.”

“They’re my kids. They’re not.”

“They are!”

“There is no way in hell-”

“Zhengting, I’m the leader of the Retributation, you don’t make the decisions.”

“I do for my kids!”

“I said they’re coming!” Justin almost cracks a smile at the way Xukun seems to now be furiously on his side, desperate to contradict, it seemed, anything Zhengting pulled up.

“They could die!”

“So could Yanjun, Nong, and Xingjie!”

“I never said them going was a good idea either!”

“You can’t shield your kids forever, Zhengting! They’re fucking going and that’s that.”

Zhengting is standing up now, fists clenched by his sides as his pupils flash warnings at an icy Xukun. Justin holds his breath; it’s hard not to be nervous when the two most dangerous people he has ever met seem to be at a throat hold at each other. Chengcheng takes the opportunity to squeeze Justin harder, fingers digging into the skin around his abdomen.

“Fine.” Zhengting says after a while, still impassive, still dangerous, “But I’m going with them.”

Xukun looks like he’s about to hurl, “Like I said, none of this is your decision.”

“I wasn’t asking permission.” They stare at each other again, stubbornness from both sides straining the air between them. Zhengting’s arms are crossed now, and his mouth is set in that straight line with the slight curve at the left of his face that lets Justin know that he’s unwavering.

Yanchen is the one to break the silence this time, “Okay, perfect. Xukun, Xingjie, Yanjun, Linong, Justin, Chengcheng, Zhengting. You guys’ll go to kick ass and get Zhangjing back, and the rest of us will keep the house clean.” He scoffs, “You fucking drama queens. Take so long even though we all know that we’re probably going to need Zhengting’s skill more than anything.”

His voice is good for rousing everyone to relax, all muttering assent to the plan as they climb up from their seats and filter out the room. Most stop to give the mission team a quick pat and squeeze, and some, like Chaoze and Dinghao, pull Yanjun into locking embraces that he doesn’t seem to register. Justin sees the vein bulging out of Yanjun’s temple, and that combined with the steely gaze in his eyes and the tightly clenched jaw is enough to tell him that he’s more eager for this mission than anyone else.

He turns to Chengcheng again, reimmersing himself into Zhengting’s tirade of how they’re never going to give him a break and to just let him die in peace. Cheng has a sheepish grin plastered over his face, and, even though he’s nodding at what Zhengting is yelling, he doesn’t seem to really be paying attention. Justin snakes his hand into his, feeling the long fingers grip around him again.

He doesn’t let go, even when Xukun is still slicing his gaze at their little group. Not when Xingjie comes to ruffle his hair. Not when Linong and Yanjun pat their sweaty, tense hands on the back of his neck. 

Because again, maybe this was the stability he needed.

  
  



	19. Xukun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter filler. i hate this chapter so i might rewrite it in the future uwu

“Jesus fucking Christ, Justin, stop squirming all over the place. You’re like a squid out of water.” Xingjie snapped loudly from the driver’s seat, hands on the wheel and eyes focused on the road but with an annoyed furrow in his eyebrow. Xukun put his hand on his seat and leaned behind him.

It was true that Justin was moving around a lot. He seemed to be climbing all over that other kid of Zhengting’s, Chengcheng or something. Chengcheng didn’t seem to be bothered, a trait that Xukun was impressed with. He sat in his seat stoically and stared indifferently ahead as Justin climbed into his lap, then onto his back, then stood up and began ruffling his pale yellow hair. Xukun would be fooled by the mature look he had on if he hadn’t seen him actually unwind with Justin a couple of days ago. Crazy and so fucking _ loud _ they would have given Yanchen a run for his money.

Yanjun and Linong were sitting side by side behind them. They were pretty quiet, for the most part, which Xukun was both glad and uncomfortable about. Linong (god he loved Nongnong, the only quiet, manageable, cute as hell kid he had) had never been much of a talker unless he was on a job. He had his arm draped over Yanjun’s shoulders again as the latter was bent over, relentlessly punching one fist to his other open palm, biting the inside of his cheek as he stared unblinkingly at the ground. This was the concerning part. Yanjun usually never shut up, always flirting and joking around, even more so when Zhangjing was around. Well, he supposed that was the reason why he was so tense; Xukun himself was so nervous for his friend and the mission ahead of him that he could feel his insides cool in the way they always did, so he could only imagine what Yanjun and Linong were feeling. Yanjun had taken it hard, blamed it on himself even when Xukun tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault. Zhangjing would be fine. He could just hope he was. 

Xukun lifted his eyes towards the back, and felt himself instantly looking away. Zhengting, goddamn Zhengting, was not smiling. He had on the smoky, dangerous look he tried to force himself in before he went into a mission, mouth stretched into a line with the slight tilt at the end, eyes heavy and flickering with flames. In all honesty, he couldn’t look at his face like that. He hated it. So fucking much. And what it could do to him before. 

He blinked his eyes hard a couple of times, before turning to the GPS at the front. He could see that they were getting closer to the location Jeffrey and Xiao Gui had sifted out from the people from the party. “Guys, I think we’re just about there.”

“Ah, this place is actually really pretty.” Chengcheng had finally pulled Justin off him and into the seat beside him, and was wrestling him into the leather while still looking unaffectedly at Xukun.

“Mm, SM is rich for a reason.” 

“This place is so pretty, Kun-ge. We should explore this place sometime.” Justin screeched from beneath Chengcheng’s hands.

He scoffed, “And get a bullet in the head if they ever find out you’ve been with us. Excellent plan, go do that.”

“You would cry.”

“No I wouldn’t.” Justin pouted at him, before refocusing his attention on clambering back onto Chengcheng. 

“Do we have a plan, Xukun?” Linong asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah. Wanna go over it?” Without waiting, he began explaining, “So we’re gonna be split into three teams. I’m with Xingjie, Linong with Yanjun, Chengcheng with Justin and Zhengting. Zhengting and Linong will first go pose as soldiers and take out the security guards at the front. That way Xingjie can drive in without any annoyances.” He turned to an unblinking, crazily sexy in the-dangerous-way Yanjun, “You’re not gonna take them out because they’ll definitely know your face.” Yanjun nodded once. “Good, Xingjie and I will go clear a path and Yanjun and Linong will go sneak off the right wing to find Zhangjing. Chengcheng and Justin and Zhengting will head to the left wing and do the same. Xingjie and I will take the center strip to try to find the head-”

“No, we need to send a team to find the security system first.” Zhengting had been silent this entire ride, so hearing his voice was a little startling at first. In fact, he had been icily silent towards him ever since their argument. Suits him. He didn’t want to talk to him anyways.

“We would have disabled it at the front. Xingjie’s picked up enough from Xiao Gui to do it.”

“But there might be a back up if the first gets busted.”

“Zhengting, so little buildings have a second security system now. It’s so expensive-”

“But is SM poor in anyways? No. Do you want them to rat us out and hold Zhangjing hostage?”

Xukun opened his mouth, intent on retorting back that a couple years ago SM never used secondary security systems, when Yanjun’s voice cut through the air.

“I agree. We aren’t taking any chances.” Xukun takes one look at Yanjun’s hard set eyes, and he swallows the words in his mouth. Usually he’d fight back, but seeing Yanjun’s face like that, so desperate, so dangerous, he knew he should keep his mouth shut.

“Fine. Only because you think it’s a good idea.” He sees Xingjie scoff beside him at the petty line tacked on at the end, but ignores it. “Then Xingjie and I will go find the security system.”

“Xukun-ge, who’s holding up the center strip then?” Xukun curses himself for not remembering, before considering for a second.

Zhengting cuts across his thoughts, “Xingjie is the only one good enough to handle the security system, which means that he’s out. I can cover the center myself.”

“No!” the words, the treacherous words burst out from his throat, unchecked and impulsive. He glances at Zhengting, expecting a smirk or smug look, but seeing instead that he’s genuinely surprised.

“Why? I can handle it.”

Xukun doesn’t know why exactly either. He knows that he is more than capable to handle a strip of agents and slipping past defenses unnoticed. He also knows that, for the most part, he can capture an SM higher up without too much trouble. But for some reason, messed up images are floating around in his head, and he can’t get them out.

“You might be out of practice. I’ll go. You go with Xingjie.”

“Xukun. I’m perfectly capable and you know that.” Zhengting’s voice doesn’t hold any venom, surprising him again.

“I’m still going with you. Xingjie doesn’t need two for breaking into a security room and messing with their computers.” He doesn’t know where the words are coming from. They’re rushed and dribbling out of his mouth, but he’s speaking so fast he doesn’t feel whatever emotions that would probably beating him up right now.

Zhengting looks curiously at him, before letting out a puff of air, “Okay. Xingjie goes for security. You and I take the center. Justin, Chengcheng, can you handle the left alone?”

Chengcheng says something, but Xukun isn’t listening anymore.

What the hell? Why did he propose to go with Zhengting? Was he stupid? And why did he agree so easily anyways? He snuck a glance at Zhengting, but he wasn’t looking at him anymore. 

Xingjie’s voice jarrs him back, “We’re here guys.” Their car pulls up conveniently to a darkened patch behind a clump of thick bushes about a hundred yards away from the place. “Get off.” Xukun brushes his clustered thoughts aside to clamber off with the rest of them.

In moments, Zhengting and Linong are dressed in the standard uniform of SM soldiers. Xingjie pins their identifying badges and gives them their fake IDs. Xiao Gui and Jeffrey really do finish the job down to every last detail. 

Xukun still isn’t thinking too hard when they’re able to fool the guards to let them in. He doesn’t even register it too much when he hears the crack that signifies that someone’s broken neck and the quiet thumping that means a silent fight. He’s not paying attention when Xingjie pull the car into the gates, gets off, and pats them all on the back and tells them that mission’s on. 

He only jerks back to full consciousness when he feels a tap on his shoulder and he turns to meet Zhengting’s dark, fiery gaze staring back at his own. His face is impassive, and Xukun knows that his own probably mirrors the same look. 

“Ready?” Zhengting is quiet, composed, delicate. Xukun swallows.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” 

As they slip through the doors, Xukun glances at Zhengting one more time. He forces back the horrible anticipation he had on his first mission with this boy all those years ago, boiling and hot and unpredictable, and walks silently with Zhengting down the dimly lit hall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> frick


	20. Chengcheng

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk why my writing quality is potato level now :( 
> 
> right now, i have the general story arc for all the 'couples' written out. debating whether yanren or chengstin are my favs :o

Sometimes Chengcheng tells himself that he’s sick of this agent work. 

He always moans to a sympathetic Wenjun and Zhengting that he’s gonna work himself to an early death if he doesn’t get shot up first, and groans desolately into his arm and the flurry of scars littered across his body. Honestly, he probably would have done that already; as soon as he healed up he should have stuck with Wenjun and Xinchun back home, learning how to play around with computers and bandages and spending calmer days without guns and blood and screaming.

But then again, he wasn’t built for that. Chengcheng knows that he has fighting power in his blood, and that it’s easily ignited by the slightest push.

Like right now, with Justin’s eyes reflecting pure mirth flickering across his face, as they crouch behind a row of cabinets on the first floor. Chengcheng felt his blood steam in the way adrenaline always did to him, and was further ignited by the Justin’s tug on his arm.

“I gotta give it to them. This place is gorgeous.” Chengcheng couldn’t help but nod in agreement. Jeffrey had told them that this wasn’t by any means a main base of SM, but was more of a relaxation and storage house for higher ups. Perfect for that anyways, as it looked more like a huge, luxurious mansion than what he thought was a base. 

The cabinet they were behind right now, for instance, held a row of beautiful china vases, blue and white and pink and green. He didn’t know prices very well, but at the very least they had to be worth a couple hundred thousand rmb.

“I wish they let us have a free reign and actually let us fight rather than just this assassination stuff.” Justin whispered again. Chengcheng scoffed.

“Yes, and alert the entire SM group to send forces to come capture us?”

“We wouldn’t let them do that.”

Chengcheng checked the gun strapped across his chest, reloading it so that he would be ready to whip it out and shoot. Justin noticed it and put a hand on it.

“Yeah, says the one who’s actually considering using a gun even though it would make so much noise and wake up everyone for  _ sure _ . Xukun told us to specifically use knives this time.”

Chengcheng sighed, pulling the strapped gun to his side. He was right. Even though his sharpshooting skills weren’t bad at all, he wouldn’t be able to use them even though Xukun  _ did  _ ask for a sniper. “Are we gonna go anytime soon?”

“Fine, as soon as this group of soldiers passes us.”

As soon as they did, Justin slipped out from behind the cabinet and began to creep down the hall. Chengcheng followed him a couple seconds later, pressing his body close to the wall. 

“I wonder if Xingjie’s knocked out the security system yet.” Justin breaths as they continue to slink down the halls. 

“We should be checking inside these rooms.” Chengcheng pulls out a knife from his side. He nods to Justin, who creeps behind the nearest door. Chengcheng presses his ear gently to its surface, taking in signs from inside.

“Anyone?”

“Nothing major. Just a lot of beeping.” Turns out to be a room of computers and suspiciously buzzing machines. They close the door behind them and continue onwards.

It’s a pretty quiet mission; there’s less people than they expected, and it isn’t until they’ve thoroughly checked a whole hall that someone sees them.

Chengcheng catches sight of them first, a troupe of 5 men lumbering down the halls, laughing to each other crudely and clicking their guns against each other. He considers dragging Justin, who’s inspecting a digital lock on one door, into one of the rooms they had checked before, but he scraps that plan when he catches sight of one of the soldiers squint at them. Instead, he throws himself over Justin, knocking him to the floor as bullets erupt over his head.

“Fuck.” He pants, whipping out his gun, “Guess we’re gonna have to use guns after all.” He pulls Justin behind the edge of the doorway, finger lingering over the trigger.

Justin scowls at him, pulling out his own gun, “I hate when you’re right.” He fires at the group of men, and based on the thunk that comes soon after, he knows that Justin’s hit right at the bullet-proof vests they’re probably wearing. “Dammit! They have protection!”

“Most people want to have protection,” Chengcheng scoffs coyly at Justin’s now grossed out face, “Get them at the head.” He peers over the edge of the doorframe and quickly fires at the head of the soldier at the left. He knows it’ll hit even before he’s pressing down on the trigger, and sure enough, the man crumples in a spurt of red.

“I also hate when your aim is good.”

“That’s basically every time, sucker.”

They continue to fire at the men, exchanging bullets with them. None go down after the first one, however, as Chengcheng watched them pull out some sort of bulletproof shield and raise it in front of them. Instead, he waits for the clicks that signify they’re advancing closer. 

Justin turns to him, “I’ll take the guns. You get the legs.” In time too, because as the first soldier just peeks around their edge, Justin whips his foot at the gun in his hands and knocks it some twenty feet away. At the same time, Chengcheng crouches and swings his leg at his feet, sending him toppling to the ground. He finishes him with a hard punch to the head, and as he’s looking up from the passed out form, he sees that Justin’s already taken care of the second one.

Justin grins, knife in his hand still dripping with blood, “Three down, two more to go.”

Evidently, the other two soldiers have decided to wait it out. As Chengcheng peers around the corner again, he sees that they’re flustered, apparently having run out of bullets.

“Now, Tin. They’re free.” Justin doesn’t even wait to let him finish and he’s already sprinting down the hall. Chengcheng groans again, “At least wait for me.”

Finishing the other two goes pretty smoothly. Justin has one in a headlock at the same time that Chengcheng has slammed one against the wall. He finishes his guy by banging his head hard against the wall only to turn to find the other slinking to the ground. Justin’s wiping his hands on his pants, grinning from ear to ear.

“Stop smiling like that. You look like a creep.” 

“Shut up. Let’s get out of here. I bet there are people coming to investigate the gunshots.”

“Wrap up these rooms at least!”

“Zhangjing isn’t in any of them. I just remembered that there would probably be more security around if he was.”

“Ah, fuck. You’re right.”

“Let’s go then.”

Justin grabs his arm and proceeds to tug him down a dark corridor. 

The next couple of wings still go smoothly. Chengcheng didn’t really expect anything less. After a couple of years of sneaking off to go on missions with Justin, they’ve learned each other’s styles like the backs of their hands. They look pretty rough on the surface, all brute force and sweat, but really, Chengcheng has never found a better mission partner.

As Justin drop-kicks a startled soldier that they had to ambush to access another hall, Chengcheng is reminded of that yet again. He’s pinning another by the throat up against the wall, when he hears the swish-thuck of something hitting its target. He lets the man in his hand drop to the floor, to turn to another face down on the ground, metal handle sticking out of his back.

“Don’t take your eyes off your back, Cheng.” Justin says smugly, kicking at the groaning man beside his feet.

Chengcheng scowls. That’s another thing. Justin always seems to save his ass at the last second, even though, in his opinion, it should have been the other way. He doesn’t know why, but even though he’s better in terms of skill, he’s always the one to get saved. Sure, that might be part of the contribution to why Justin’s the best partner he’s had, but it still doesn’t stop ticking him off.

“Shut up, stupid.” He jabs at Justin’s side, scowling again at his smirk, “I feel like we’re getting somewhere more important.”

“Thanks. There’s a reason why there are more soldiers around now. I thought we established that.”

“You’re really dumb, did you know that? Come on. Let’s go check this place out.”

They’re tense now, sides pressed against each other, guns at their disposal and knives in the other hand. Chengcheng knows that the more tense Justin gets, the more he talks, so he’s not surprised when the blond haired boy begins to babble on.

“This place is really fancy, huh. Paintings and shit. Nice ornaments. SM really has cash now. No doors to check for Zhangjing though.”

“I think we’re getting to a common center?” Chengcheng adds after a momentary lull in Justin’s tirade, “Usually halls up to meeting rooms or bigger rooms don’t have smaller ones on the side.”

“Mmm, fair. Make sure I don’t kill anyone in the next couple of moments. They might actually be important now.” Chengcheng leans and ruffles Justin’s hair, suddenly filled with a surge of affection. That’s another part about Justin that makes him such a good partner. He trusts Chengcheng enough to let him control him, even when Chengcheng himself isn’t feeling too stable himself. He once tried to explain it to him, when he had drank for the first time at Zeren’s birthday party. Babbled on about how Chengcheng was  _ holding him back _ or something. He didn’t investigate into it too much, knowing that Justin was too intoxicated to know what he was really saying. But it still gave him a rush of affection for the annoying blond kid, knowing that he was somehow helping him back the same way Justin stupidly kept saving him.

“Well, I’ll remind you right now. Because now that I’ve gotten a closer look at this door, I can tell there’s gonna be someone decently important inside.” Chengcheng stopped at the foot of the doorway, pointing to the elaborate lock systems beside it, “Definitely an office or meeting room.”

“Should we bust it up or let Xingjie do the work?” As a response, Chengcheng taps into the earpiece on his right.

“Xingjie, come in. It’s Chengcheng. Have you gotten into the security system”

There’s a slight buzz, before Xingjie’s casual, heavy voice is peeking through the static, “Hey. Yeah, I’m in. Not too hard, they’re not crazy skilled. All the cameras and alarm systems are disabled. What’s up?”

“We’re on the left wing, in front of some fancy door.” He sees Justin mouth  _ 178 _ to him, “Justin’s mouthing 178. Can you unlock the door?”

“178? That’s the hall number. Lemme see.” There’s a light muttering from the other side and Chengcheng takes the chance to raise his eyebrows at Justin. He responds by shrugging slightly.

“Ah. There we go.” The door clicks, and Chengcheng only has a second to breath a quick thank you before Justin’s kicking it open.

He doesn’t even get a chance to really do anything and Justin’s already taken out both of the guards in the room with two bangs from his gun. Chengcheng pushes past him and the two crumpled forms to hold a gun at a wide-eyed, handsome man who has his hands raised in a surrendering pose.

“What?” The man splutters, eyes darting at his fallen guards and the boys in front of him, “What? Who are you?”

“Who are you?” Chengcheng snarls in his most menacing voice.

“Don’t lie about it either, we’ll be able to tell.” Justin adds on.

“I’m Johnny. Johnny Seo. What do you want from me?” His question goes unanswered before Chengcheng hits him hard against his head with the butt of his gun. His eyes roll back into his head before he slumps into his chair.

“Damn, Cheng. Shoulda let the man get an honest answer first before knocking him out.” Justin says, amused, as Chengcheng pulls the array of knives and two handguns strapped to the inside of Johnny’s jacket.

He ignores him, “Damn. He was prepared. We’re lucky we caught him off guard.”

“SM bred indeed. Only SM agents carry that many weapons on them at all times.” 

Chengcheng nods his assent as he slings the man over his shoulder. “Yeah, JYP definitely didn’t encourage that. Should we dump him in the front first or keep going?”

“Let me check with Xingjie.” Justin presses his earpiece like Chengcheng did before, and furrows his eyebrows at whatever’s being said on the other side. Chengcheng can’t hear the voice well over the ringing of his ears from the gunshots, but from the way Justin’s unconsciously begins to slink out the door, he knows to follow him. 

“What’s up?” He asks when Justin’s finished.

“Meet him at the front. Apparently Linong dialled in. They got Zhangjing.”

Chengcheng doesn’t really know any of Justin’s old friends very well, but remembering the kindness the shorter techie had shown him and thinking to the way he had hugged him randomly when him and Justin had visited his dorm in the evenings, he lets out a delighted grin. “Let’s go then.”

He might sometimes hate his profession, but times like these, when they’re both freely running down an empty corridor, successful from the mission they just finished, makes it bearable. And even though he has to get saved again, Justin having to pitch in somewhere in the middle and carry the limp SM official with him, Chengcheng thinks that as long as the yellow haired boy beside him continues to stay as his partner, kicking guns and putting people in headlocks, he’ll do this for however long they’ll ask him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate this chapter oml sorry chengstin


	21. Zhengting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zhengkun angst lol

Zhengting wanted to slap himself.

He didn’t know what the hell had come over him when he insisted that he partner with Xukun. Admittedly, he had been thinking from a purely logical perspective. That combined with the obvious sheen of sweat on Yanjun’s forehead from the stress he was having and his own worry for Zhangjing, made Zhengting’s mouth a bit more free than he would have liked.

But this? This was fucking crazy. He was currently stalking around the halls of this huge mansion with Cai Xukun, trying as hard as he could possibly could to stay plastered to the right wall, as far away from said boy as possible. He didn’t even feel particularly bad about it anyways. Xukun hadn’t spoken a word to him after the quick ‘let’s go’ at the very beginning of the mission, and he seemed to be devoted to stare anywhere but at him.

Fine by him. He didn’t exactly want to interact with him too much anyways. 

Zhengting stuck his hand into his belt, tucking three small blades into the spaces between his fingers. They would be good for a sudden knife throw, or, if it came to it, an especially painful fist fight. 

He smiled in spite of the situation, remembering when he had tried to teach Xinchun and Wenjun how to play around with knives. Xinchun had cut himself within the first ten minutes of touching the blades, and Wenjun, even though he didn’t hurt himself in the end, was so careful with the way he picked them up Zhengting knew at once there was no point in trying. 

Instead, Wenjun had bandaged up Xinchun’s hand, entire demeanor calm and composed as he put on the ‘doctor’ face Justin and Chengcheng liked to caw about. Quanzhe had taken the moment to sneak some more bites of a cheesecake Zhengting had given into buying, Zeren smacking him over the head when he caught him but joining in at the same time. 

It was moments like these that made Zhengting feel like it was all worth it. Put aside the fact that he  _ had _ to do it to protect Zeren, Justin, and Quanzhe, but the moments where all seven of them were gathered together, laughing and relaxed and all  _ family like _ , made running away from his future seem like the easiest thing in the world. If he hadn’t left, he would have never gotten to see Justin, Zeren, and Quanzhe feel this safe, and he wouldn’t have even met Wenjun, and Xinchun. Chengcheng might not have even been alive.

Maybe, the six of them made leaving Xukun all worth it. 

***

“Zhu Zhengting. What do you think you’re doing?” Zhengting knew he was there even before he heard him speak. The soft tread Xukun had trained himself to perfect was so jarringly recognizable to him by this point, he could imitate it step for step.

He turned around in the dim light, aware of the nervous looks Zeren was exchanging with Justin. Quanzhe was still burying his face in Zeren’s shirt, still guilty over the entire thing. He swept the three of them behind them, pressing them between himself and the side of the jeep. 

“Xukun.” Xukun was by the side of the garage door, arms crossed and leaning against the wall like he was the most relaxed person in the world. But Zhengting recognized the clench in his jaw, and knew that he was going to have to explain himself well.

“Wanna tell me what you’re doing?” Xukun raised his eyebrows at the bag of guns and bills slung over his back, and Zhengting readjusted it as a way to compose himself. 

He turned to the three younger boys first, “In the car. Now.” They complied quickly, Zeren detaching Quanzhe to Justin before all three climbed into the jeep.

He spun to meet Xukun’s eyes again. They were composed. Restrained. Quiet. “We have to, Xukun.”

“Why is that?” 

Zhengting bit the inside of his cheek, pondering for a second whether or not he should tell him. Fuck. It was Xukun. If he couldn’t tell Xukun, he couldn’t tell anyone.

Still chewing on his cheek, he quickly explained to Xukun about how Quanzhe was on the hit-list for the next trainee cleanout, and how Zeren and Justin had seen the sheet on their last mission.

“Okay. But that doesn’t explain why you’re going?” Xukun was still leaning against the wall, but now his voice was coming out tense and strained.

“We have to leave. They could be killed.” He turned again to dump the bag into the open window, grunting slightly at the weight.

“But… why are  _ you  _ going?” Xukun’s voice, gentle, smooth, cut deeper into him than any biting remark he could have thrown at him. 

Zhengting spun, opening his mouth, before he was stopped by Xukun’s sudden proximity. He wasn’t faking relaxation anymore. His hands were clenched by his side, and, peering into his eyes, he saw a hurricane instead of silence.

“I… They’re my kids, Xukun. I can’t just send them off.”

“Zeren’s old enough to take care of them all, isn’t he?” Xukun’s eyes were shiny now, a sight Zhengting had never seen before. It was like someone had poured a melted mirror into them, all glassy and reflective and rippling. Zhengting raised his hands subconsciously to touch, before forcing them down again.

“No. He’s still young. I couldn’t live without knowing that they’re safe.”

“And Yanchen?” Xukun continued on, “And Ziyi? Xingjie? Everyone else that cares?” He paused for a second, before whispering the next words, “What about me, Zhengting? What about  _ me _ ?”

Zhengting stared at him for a moment. In the years he had known him, Xukun had filled out. He had come into this agency hearing of the icy trainee with too many bones and a fist that hurt more than any bullet. Xukun had been precisely that at first- a skinny boy with deadly aim and a hard kick and hard eyes. But now he was older; the muscles molded naturally into his every curve, balanced by his perfect heart shaped face and large eyes. His hair had grown out now too, tumbling gently over the arch of his eyebrows, recently dyed blond again and, by the dry ends, still adjusting. 

Xukun didn’t know it, but Zhengting had memorized every split, every curve of his lips to know that he was gently biting the inside of it. They were so inviting and soft and intoxicating, Zhengting had to will himself to stay with himself. But most of all, his eyes were wide, open, glassy with film: a sight Zhengting had never seen before.

“I don’t know, Xukun.” He whispered in return, “I don’t know.”

Xukun leaned into him, not touching but desperate and hushed. “So were all those times a lie?” His voice was pained, raw, “All the times we had together? All the missions and the training and the fighting?” 

His mind flickered past a scrapbook of memories, of Xukun pressed against his back as they fought off the world, of Xukun colliding his fist against his cheek, of Xukun sucking marks into his neck like it was nothing and touching him like he meant everything. 

Zhengting didn’t have to say anything. Xukun filled in the gaps himself, “You’re leaving everything behind for them?”

“Xukun. I have to.” 

Xukun broke then, a single tear flooding stubbornly down his cheek. Instantly, his eyes hardened, freezing over to the look he usually had before a kill. He stepped back, jerking his hands slightly behind him like he was repulsed by the very being of Zhengting. He threw his head back and laughed, the sound jagged and clashing with the silent night air.

“So that’s it, huh? Zhengting. Leaving everything behind just for  _ this _ .” He was laughing harder than ever now, tears gliding unwillingly down his face, “It was all nothing, wasn’t it?” 

Zhengting couldn’t trust himself to speak. They had kissed and fucked and killed like the next day was the end of the world before. This boy with the heart shaped face and the jarringly painful laugh and the beautifully jagged tear tracks cutting into his cheeks. Zhengting didn’t have to speak; Xukun was like a puzzle piece, slotting perfectly against him. Again, he finished what Zhengting didn’t have the words to say.

“Don’t worry, Zhengting. It wasn’t anything anyways. You know that. We never said ‘I love you’ or ‘I like you’ or any of that shit. It was just  _ it _ , wasn’t it? Fine. Go. Keep Justin and Zeren and Quanzhe safe. I can tell the others by myself. We’ll get over it.” He laughed harder still, “But if I find you on SM territory again, I’m going to have to do what I do to every deserter or traitor.”

Zhengting nodded, turning to the door. He’s about to put his hand on the handle and pull it open, when Xukun’s voice stops him again.

It’s soft and broken and so breathtakingly raw, “Can’t you stay, Zhengting?” 

His next words are even quieter, “Please.”

Zhengting gazed at him for a long time then. The garage light flickered down at them, crackling, but Zhengting didn’t care. He drank in the sight of the boy in front of him, pleading and raw and open and defenseless and so  _ so  _ beautiful. Zhengting flickered his eyes one last time at Xukun’s, darkness piercing into ones full of tears. 

He shook his head.

He turned for the last time and climbed into the car. Zhengting started the engine and pressed his foot down on the pedal. Slowly, he began to pull out of the driveway, eyes trained on nothing except for the road in front of him.

It wasn’t until he was a kilometer away from the building that the tears started to fall, blurring his vision so badly that all he could register was the terrible, tearing pain in his chest.

Admittedly, he never regretted it. He had clenched down hard against himself and willed himself to stay strong for the others. If there was anything else he could never bear to see, it was Zeren or Justin looking guilty for his own decision to go with them. Quanzhe had already broken down and apologized like a mantra, sobbing that he was sorry he wasn’t good enough, was too weak and too lazy and too useless. 

So he didn’t cry after that. Just grit his teeth as the tear in his heart seemed unwilling to piece itself back up and forced himself to look presentable for the three younger ones’ expectant eyes every morning. 

It hadn’t been easy at first. He had to kill the bands of men that tried to raid them at night, and shoot the others that got a little too close and flirted too dangerously to his kids. On one occasion, he nearly got himself killed fighting off a group of patrolling SM agents, obviously on the lookout for them. He would have probably died if Zeren hadn’t stepped in at the last second and shot off the ones on his back.

Then, as they were driving past a tall, modern area of the city they were passing through, Quanzhe had remarked that there was a boy gaping at the edge of the road. Zhengting has pulled over and asked said boy what he was waiting around for. He was tall, pristinely handsome, but held an air of cool calm around him that had pulled Zhengting to come over in the first place. Wenjun, as he soon introduced himself, had told them that he was a medical school student, but had run away from his rich family after they had abruptly cut off his studies so that he could be forced into an arranged marriage.

“They just cut me off. Didn’t even care that I was one of the best in the field.” Wenjun had said, after Justin had pulled him into their car, “I didn’t know what to do, so I left.”

“You did the right thing.” Zhengting told him, “You’re with us now. No one is going to hurt you.”

Wenjun was a good addition to their group. His stabilizing, healing personality balanced out the general craziness and bloodlust of the other three, and Zhengting soon found that the quiet tranquility of his arms was the best place to peel himself open, exposing his own repressed emotions he knew the rest of them were worried about but that he couldn’t bring himself to say.

Xinchun was next. They found him having a panic attack by the side of a suspiciously shady alley, during a late night market excursion Quanzhe had dragged them on. He had his head between his knees, and was curled up so tightly that Justin tripped over him thinking he was a rock or a bag of garbage left out. After Wenjun had eased him out of his shell and coaxed him to say something, he had burst, spluttering about how he was outside to hide from his screaming mother, and that he usually just slept outside when she was in one of her drunken rages. 

Wenjun had to physically restrain Zeren and Justin from not hopping up the steps to the apartment Xinchun pointed to, pointing out that Xinchun probably wouldn’t like it if his mother was killed. Zhengting had asked Xinchun if he wanted to leave everything behind, and, seeing the unhesitating nod, asked him to come with them.

Xinchun was shy at first, too tense and too nervous about the rest of them. Zhengting had thought it was just normal recovery from the years of screaming and horrible comments his mother bestowed on him, until Justin had walked in on him washing up one time, and had come back to Zhengting shaking, whispering about how there were more scars and marks on Xinchun’s back than the rest of them combined. Considering how Xinchun was a software engineering student before, and that the rest of them, apart from Wenjun, lived to kill, this was definitely out of the ordinary. It was a long time before Xinchun could settle in enough for Zhengting to ask him about the scars, and they all stood by him when he cracked and explained the years of beatings, lashings, and beltings he was subjected to. 

It was better after. Xinchun’s scars faded until they were just white strips against his back, and he became so good at placating Justin and Quanzhe’s squabbles, Zhengting would have made that his main duty if he wasn’t needed for all the technology they needed wired up.

Zhengting had thought that that was enough. They had settled into an abandoned gas station Justin came across one day, and he had resigned their little group to completing the occasional mission, stretching out their days as simply and as normal as possible.

That is, until Justin brought back the final piece to his puzzle. He remembered how he was helping Wenjun filet a fish when Justin came sprinting for the house, kicking up a dust storm behind him. Zhengting had gotten up to reprimand him when he spotted the limp, bloody form slung over his back. Justin had quickly explained Chengcheng’s situation, and, even though he was hesitant at first of allowing a different agency’s Ace to come into their base, especially since the boy was scarily still conscious, even after losing so much blood, he had saved Chengcheng, pulling the bullets out of his legs and helping Wenjun bandage them up afterwards.

With that, he knew they were complete. Chengcheng was a perfect fit to Justin’s rashness and gutsy nature, and the two of them seemed to always be looking around for a fight to throw themselves into, or just another way to piss the rest of them off. Somehow, he even felt more safe now that Justin had someone else to accompany him on his impromptu adventures, even if they did get more stupid and dangerous by the day. Chengcheng had proven very early on that he wasn’t the Ace of JYP for any old reason; even when both of his legs were disabled, he could still nearly strangle Justin and shoot perfectly straight every time. JYP’s agents weren’t nearly as skilled as SM’s, but Chengcheng seemed to be the exception to that rule. But even though the two of them were like cyclones terrorizing everything peaceful left in Zhengting’s life, he couldn’t help but feel his heart swell at the sight of both of them peacefully wrapped up with the rest of them when he woke up in the night. 

It should have been enough; they were complete. The seven of them, against the world. He couldn’t have asked for a better family. But somehow, he still seemed to wake up in the night, sweating and shaking so hard he always woke up Wenjun beside him. He still seemed to feel a huge gaping hole in the middle of his chest, that wouldn’t be mended even when he was showered with all the love he didn’t even think he deserved. 

Because being complete sometimes wasn’t enough to overcome the cracks left behind.

***

Xukun suddenly stopped his tread. Zhengting followed quickly after, mirroring how the other suddenly pressed himself into a doorway. He glanced down the hall, catching sight of the group of guards lumbering around the corner, settling down into some communal rest area. 

“Should we take a different route?” He felt himself asking, eyes trying not to flicker to Xukun’s crouching form just at his feet.

Xukun hummed.“Let’s just take them out here. This place looks like it branches off into a lot more halls; it might be easier to have this open space as well.” Xukun’s voice was cool, professional, and lacking of any of the easy flow they used to have during missions.

“Okay. Let’s just go for it then?”

“Mmm.” 

Zhengting didn’t wait for any more signals. He whipped out from his hiding place and sprinted for the soldiers. 

He hadn’t allowed himself to get too rusty over the few years he was out of SM; he still frequented missions and took out raiders or hostile vigilantes that passed by their home. Besides, tumbling around with his kids was training enough.

So when he leaped and landed a solid kick at the back of some soldier’s head, he wasn’t surprised to feel his fighting instincts rush in again. He grabbed the same man’s arm and twisted it behind him, hearing the resounding crunch as it was probably broken or dislocated. As the man screamed, Zhengting let him fall to the ground, already lashing out at the next soldier. 

He heard the whacks and cracks somewhere beside him, and he knew that Xukun was occupied as well. There were at least fifteen of them in this lounge, and he knew that every single one of his moves would have to count for something.

So he continued to kick and punch and fight. Somewhere in the middle he unsheathed the knives grasped between his fingers, and the blood that followed it was hot and sticky and got his own blood boiling from the smell alone.

In one instance, another group of soldiers had appeared at one of the doorways, barefisted but sturdy looking, obviously trying to see what the commotion was about. Zhengting finished the man he was fighting with a hard kick to the ribs, and hearing the crack of bone, drifted his eyes to see what Xukun was up to.

The boy was tackling two other agents, both already bloody from the shallow slashes across their arms and torso. Xukun had apparently pulled out his knife much more early on than he did, and as a result, the forms littered around him seemed to be pooling in a large puddle of blood. He watched as Xukun straightened and adjusted his gaze towards the new group of agents approaching. He saw Xukun flicker his eyes up and down them, assessing them, sizing them up, before, surprisingly glancing his direction.

Their eyes met for a second, still unforgiving and stormy and dark. But somewhere there, Zhengting saw  _ understanding _ , and that was enough. He tipped his head down in a brief sign of agreement, watching as Xukun’s gaze hardened over in acknowledgement. He raised his arms then, knowing that Xukun would do the same, as the bodies of the other agents slammed into him.

They fought hard, perhaps for the first time that night. These agents were undoubtedly more skilled, probably had actually gone through the rigours of SM training. Zhengting knew he was fighting, but all he could really feel for the next moments was the steady flow of a droplet of sweat down the back of his neck.

Then suddenly, his back pressed against something solid, something warm. He was still lashing out, trying desperately to get a good slash while still avoiding the short blade in his assailants hands, so he didn’t turn around to see what. But just with the contact, the way his body naturally curved into the other, he knew that he was pressed up against Xukun, back to back, just like they had always fought, had always been.

It was deja vu, how he kept turning at the right moments, adjusting his stance the way he knew would strengthen Xukun’s, twisting his body away when he had to force both of them to a side. He felt his own sweat leak through his shirt, and feeling it soak through the other’s was both horrible but comforting somehow at the same time. At one point, Xukun even jerked his elbow back, hitting the face of a second agent Zhengting had neglected to take care of and who was rapidly coming onto him.

This was what he had missed, he realized, with the blood and sweat and groans and pounding in his ear all around him. The way they fit together, easing like liquid into the cracks that both of them had. Covering up for each other because they just  _ knew _ what needed to be done.

When the last agent dropped to his knees, Zhengting didn’t move. He felt Xukun freeze behind him as well, his back muscles hardening from the sudden stiffness. They both stopped like that, swaying a little, letting the last man fall flat on the ground, choking from the slash across his neck. Until Zhengting felt it in himself to jerk away, force himself to take that step away from the one person that understood better than anyone else how to fill him completely.

Xukun was panting still, a red mark across his cheekbone that would undoubtedly leave a bruise the next day. A dried line of red was smeared down the side of his mouth and the same colour stained areas of his clothing. His fists were still clenched and bloody, his eyes wide and alert, his hair sweaty and sweeped up away from his forehead.

They looked at each other again, stubbornly registering the  _ understanding _ , the  _ fit _ between their eyes. The vulnerability and blood and fire reflected into each other. 

Then, just as naturally as it came, it broke. Xukun looked away, not with the entire motion of his head, but with the slight waver in his pupils. Zhengting saw the barrier again, the unforgiving wall suddenly erected between them. 

Xukun, still not tearing his eyes away from his, gave him a brief, stiff nod, before turning and stepping over the bodies on the floor. 

Zhengting watched, motionless, as he began to pad down a brightly lit hallway. He watched as the blond haired boy straightened his shoulders with all the pride and surety as a King, and walked unforgivingly into the light. He didn’t look back, not even once.

It was a while before Zhengting went to follow him.


	22. Yanchen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i bet u wanna know how zhangjing is!
> 
> sucks, here's yanren instead

Before he found Ding Zeren again, Yanchen had always thought of him as the hard-headed, bony, gritty little brother that had a knack for fist fights and was so hot-blooded he had to learn the hard way not to agitate some of the older agents in SM. Even though he knew the boy had a talent for the work they did, very quickly surpassing most of their peers, because they were put in the same training group, and maybe because quite honestly, he was still a-ways off from reaching Yanchen’s and Xukun’s and the other aces’ skills, that Yanchen never really paid too much attention to him. Was he fond of the boy? Definitely. Willing to indulge in his petty challenges? Of course. But was he anything else than the little boy who was close to Zhengting and Justin? Not really.

But a couple weeks into their reconnection was enough to change that entirely.

Take right now, for instance. Zeren was tearing the tubes hooked into his arm out with a vigour, not caring when the liquids gushed from their ends and onto the bedsheets of the hospital bed. Even when Yanchen looked at him accusingly, he just shrugged.

“Don’t take this wrong, but even I wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Fuck this place. I hate being in hospitals.”

“Me too. But I know better at least than to do something to get Fen-ge and Mubo on my ass again.”

Zeren swung his legs over the side and onto the ground, brown hair falling over his brows. Yanchen watched as the muscles in his calves flexed as he stood up, their toned arches rippling under his skin.

“Yanchen-ge~” Zeren groaned, “Let’s go somewhere.”

Yanchen scoffed, “You have two bullet holes healing on you right now, Zeren. There’s a reason why Mubo had to talk you out of volunteering for Zhangjing’s rescue mission.”

Zeren gasped in mock offense, “Yanchen! Are you doubting Fen-ge and Mubo’s cell regeneration process? Are you saying that my recovery hasn’t been up to par?” 

Yanchen slapped his thigh, “Shut up, you brat.” 

“So you do?”

“Jesus Christ.” 

They continued to bicker around like that, Zeren whining a little to get Yanchen to let him go somewhere, Yanchen trying to convince him that he had to heal up more and that Mubo would personally strangle him if he let him out of the room.

“But Yanchen-ge. If you were in my position right now, you would be breaking out of the window at every chance to go run off somewhere.”

Yanchen glared at him, feeling defeated that he couldn’t refute that. Zeren cocked an eyebrow in anticipation.

He sighed, “Fine. We can go for a walk.”

Zeren hopped off the bed, rattling the carts around it. 

“No! We’re not going if your going to hurt yourself again!”

Zeren didn’t listen to him, just slipping his feet into his shoes and brushing past him for the doors.

“You brat.”

By the time Yanchen caught up with him, Zeren was already jogging down the hall out of the medical wing. 

“I thought we agreed on a walk.”

“We’re walking. Let’s go outside.”

Yanchen stopped in his tracks. Zeren didn’t seem to be bothered, and continued to pace at the same speed.

“What. No, no, no. I meant a walk  _ inside _ . I think Mubo would personally strangle me if I let you even near the doors.”

Zeren called out, still not turning his head around to look at him, “Ah well. We can deal with that.”

Yanchen seethed, before suddenly remembering his trump card. “I bet Zhengting would murder you and I before then, though.”

It did the trick. Zeren jarred to a stop. Yanchen took the opportunity to catch up with him.

“Fuck. You’re right. Let’s just stay inside then.”

Yanchen nodded, pleased with this turn of events. “Now that I think about it, you haven’t really taken a peek around here yet, have you. I’ll give you a tour.”

Zeren raised his eyebrows. “How about you just show me the training centers first?”

Alright. That was a plan. Yanchen turned his feet in the direction of the training rooms, going a bit slower than before to force Zeren to slow down and not tear his stitches again or something. It was easy; they continued to jabber at each other on the way down, Yanchen complaining about his childishness while Zeren fired back with examples of how Yanchen was the same. 

Over the week and a half that Zeren had woken up from his wounds, Yanchen had really gotten to know him better. Zeren had really matured, he found out quite early on. His entire personality of general hard-headedness and stubbornness had amplified and set in, to the point that he could right out say that Zeren was  _ aggressive _ . His sharp eyebrows, high nose, and golden skin only enhanced the effect. All of their conversations were basically just Yanchen firing insults at him, Zeren reciprocating with even more tongue and fire. 

He liked it. Finally, someone to banter with on the same level that wouldn’t try to bash his head in in the first five minutes. He soon found out that on top of being fiercely aggressive and mouthy, Zeren was also similar to him in stupidity and silliness. At the end of their roasts at each other, the boy would split his wide mouth open, revealing deep dimples framing his teeth, and giggle in an almost annoying, but stubbornly endearing way that drew out his own laughs that he had wanted to cover up. 

But he was still just his little brother. He might be rough and fiery and aggressive to the point that he was like a rabid dog, and he might be-- from some angles-- stupidly hot now with his sharp features and tanned skin, but he was still the little boy he mentored when they were young.

Yanchen very soon learned that that wasn’t necessarily the case.

When they arrived at the first training center, Zeren couldn’t wait for Yanchen before poking his head in.

“Is this the wrestling and hand to hand combat room?”

“Uh huh. Basically where we try to beat the shit out of each other.” He put a hand on the doorframe, leaning in more so that he was leaning above Zeren.

“But why are there mirrors on that wall?” Zeren gestured to the wall on their right.

“Oh, this was apparently a dance studio for the previous owner, and I asked to keep them up. Kun wanted to make it into a more traditional boxing and fighting room, with the ‘proper’ equipment and stuff. I talked him out of it, saying that it would be a pain in the ass to remove and honestly, we have a lot of other places for boxing rooms.”

Zeren nodded, “I like it.” He slipped into the room, shoes tapping against the wooden floor, “Makes it feel a lot more open.” Yanchen watched as he strode over to the punching bags and tape in the corner and picked a roll up.

Briskly, Zeren unwound the tape and began to tape his fingers. Yanchen gave a start, before Zeren turned and fixed his eyes on his.

“Wanna fight real quick?”

Yanchen growled, “What the hell? You’re fucking injured. I’m not even letting you go outside to talk a walk and you’re picking a fight?”

Zeren shrugged, “You said we could do something.”

“That something wasn’t to fight each other.”

“Why not. I’m healing up fast anyways, and my stitches aren’t going to come undone anytime soon.”

“No!”

Zeren surveyed him for a moment, not blinking but his fingers still wounding a strip around the expanse of his knuckles. “Please.”

“No.” He began to straighten up, drifting his gaze away, sure that the conversation was over.

“Fight me, otherwise I’ll tell Zhengting and Mubo you were the one who let me out.”

Yanchen froze. He looked up at Zeren again, seeing the seriousness in his eyes. He wasn’t smiling, but there was still a taunting spark that shone in his eyes that signalled for Yanchen’s defeat.

He sighed, walking into the room. “Fucking hell. Fine. We can have a quick brawl; nothing serious or too hard. You don’t tell any of the others I let you do this AND make sure your stitches don’t come undone, and I’ll give you a fight.”

Zeren beamed in response, delightedly revealing two dimples in the side of his cheeks. Yanchen slapped his forehead as he passed him, reaching for a second roll of tape on the counter.

Moments later, they were facing each other in the center of the room. Yanchen had stripped off his jacket, and was tucking in the ends of his tape into the wraps around his fingers. He watched as Zeren reached for his own jacket, and threw it off his shoulders.

“Are you ready?” He asked, a little delicately, “I don’t want to hurt you or anything-” He had to be cut off, as suddenly, there was a hard fist at the side of his face. He stumbled back, stabilizing himself with his left leg behind him, before instinctively whipping his other leg across. 

_ I guess he is. _

Zeren ducked down at it, letting Yanchen’s leg pass above him, before punching him hard in the abdomen. Yanchen clenched his teeth and looped his foot around to catch Zeren at the back of his leg, spinning straight again as he crashed to the ground. 

Yanchen paused for a moment, worried that he might have hurt him too much, until he felt another kick at his side. He lashed out again, landing a dull blow at the side of Zeren’s head, before feeling another punch at his torso. In the moments he took to readjust his center of balance, Zeren had leapt, spun around, and landed a perfect taekwondo kick hard at the side of his head.

_ Jesus Christ. How fast is this kid? _

They continued to fight like that, exchanging blow for blow. Zeren was fast, deathly fast. Yanchen had to admit that he was probably even more so than anyone else he had fought before, including Xukun and Zhengting and Ziyi. He threw his entire body weight in his attacks, so for what he may lack in stability or solidity, he made up for it in his relentless surge of fighting. Yanchen knew he was one of the best hand to hand combat agents in the Retributation and even at SM, so the fact that he had to even work so hard was saying something for the other boy.

The dull sounds echoed all around him, mingled with the scent of their sweat.

Yanchen ducked down as Zeren aimed a hard kick at the side of his head, missing it so narrowly he could hear the whoosh as it passed above him. Instinctively, he reached for Zeren’s balancing arm, jerking it hard towards himself and raising his elbow above the center of his back, aiming for a crushing blow down his spine. 

Then, milliseconds before he could do so, he remembered who he was fighting.

“Fuck. Zeren. I just pulled on your injured arm.” He dropped Zeren’s hand and took a couple of steps back. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I think we might have opened your stitches again.” He couldn’t be sure of that, but he was more ready to be safe than sorry.

Zeren shrugged his injured shoulder in small circles, wincing a little, “Ah, I think it’s okay. Not sure though.”

Without thinking, he yanked down the side of Zeren’s shirt so that it hung over his shoulder, revealing the expanse of his collarbone and shoulders. Fortunately, his stitches were mostly in still, just maybe a little looser than he remembered. 

“Um, Yanchen-ge?”

Yanchen stared. His fingers clenched at the fabric of Zeren’s shirt, registering suddenly the sweat soaking through it. Underneath it, Zeren’s skin was still bronzed the same tanned, golden hue, shiny with the sheen of sweat sticking to it. His collarbone was prominent and hard against the expanse of his muscled chest. 

Suddenly realizing what he was doing, Yanchen dropped his shirt. “Oh, fuck. Sorry Zeren. I just had to check your stitches.”

Zeren raised his eyebrows at him as he pulled the shirt back onto his shoulder, “Ah. It’s okay.” 

They stared a little awkwardly at each other. Yanchen was suddenly enraptured with a bead of sweat trickling down the side of Zeren’s nose and towards a split in his upper lip. 

Zeren cleared his throat, “I think you won that?”

Stupidly, Yanchen felt his cheeks heat up, though he wasn’t sure why they would do so at Zeren’s casual comment. “No. If you weren’t injured, you probably could have beaten me.” He suddenly remembered something, “You didn’t even use your injured arm, did you?”

Zeren shrugged. Yanchen gawked, “You’ve improved a lot, kid.”

“Thanks?”

“I’m serious. You’re like better than Ziyi and Xukun AND Xingjie now.”

“Shut up.”

“Really! Who taught you that? Zhengting?” Yanchen hit the side of his head with his hand, suddenly remembering Zhengting’s graceful, flexible fighting style “Ah, no. You don’t fight like him at all. You’re around the same speed as he was, but you’re super aggressive.”

Zeren had begun to unwind the tape around his hands, “I was kind of aiming for Xukun’s fighting style, but tussling around with Justin and Chengcheng kind of got me here. Do you think it’s good?”

Yanchen began picking at his own tape. “Holy, Zeren. I just told you that you’re even better than Xukun now. What do you mean do I think it’s good?” He looked up, grinning and cocking an eyebrow.

Zeren was looking at him, mouth a little open, eyes wide and filled with the same sprinkle of surprise he had had as a little boy. But his skin was golden now, his eyebrows dark and imposing. His neck filtered out into nicely muscled shoulders poking out from under his sticky shirt. His cheeks were tinged pink. Yanchen noticed with a start.

Zeren closed his mouth, awkwardly patting the back of his neck, “Thanks ge. Thanks?”

Whatever he was feeling at the moment, he squashed it down. Yanchen tossed the rolls of tape he had unwound from his hands into a trash bin lined up at the side of the room, and threw his arm around Zeren’s shoulders. He split his face back into his casual, sunny grin.

“You’ve really improved, Zeren. Now, let’s see if we can sneak back into the medical wing without Mubo noticing so that we can fix your stitches up. We can call Wenjun or something to help us. I’m just not in the mood for Mubo or Zhengting to strangle me after that fight.” He peered down at the boy, still grinning, unprepared for the sight that met his eyes.

Zeren was smiling again. But this time, instead of the smirk he usually plastered on, his smile was genuine, wide enough so that just a sliver of his teeth were visible. His deep dimples pooled generously around his plush lips. Yanchen wasn’t sure why this was enough to make his words suddenly die in his throat.

“Okay, Yanchen-ge. Let’s go.”

They continued to chatter amicably as they strolled and tip-toed down the halls, Yanchen’s arm around his shoulders and Zeren poking him every once in a while.

But even as he giggled and laughed and teased and retorted, there was a strange brushing against the back of his head that this boy, who he had always thought of as a skinny, bony kid, had become something else altogether.

And why that was important, he wasn’t sure.

  
  



	23. Linong

Usually, when him and Yanjun go on missions together, the atmosphere is light, flirty, suave. Yanjun usually walks around their venue of the night with him, side to side, cracking cold jokes and flirting with anyone whose eyes stay a little too long on them. They joke, they smile, they draw gasps and blushes from the masses around them who are enraptured by the crazy hot man with deep dimples, sharp angles, and the face and body of a supermodel, and stunned by the sunnily adorable boy with an innocent face and a cute accent. And all the while, Zhangjing would be sighing exasperatedly into their earpieces, hissing at them to get a move on when they lingered too long, and laughing muffled when Yanjun made an actual good joke.

But tonight, Linong can’t help but understand that everything is so  _ wrong _ . 

For starting points, Zhangjing is missing- captured and detained somewhere in this huge mansion for who knows how long. There’s no friendly breath in the earpiece behind his left ear, and no reassuring comment when he’s unsure of the direction he’s headed in. 

And second, Yanjun is more tense and cold than any other night Linong has worked with him.

He can’t blame him. Despite him being the certified sunshine of the Retributation, Nongnong himself can’t scrape up a single smile in this place with the thought of Zhangjing being held somewhere, interrogated or tortured or who knows what. Instead, his own face is stony and hard, a cold sweat dripping down his neck and the side of his head from the merciless killings he’s made tonight. Inside, his insides are clenched painfully and his heart is racing, horrible images running through his mind that he tries desperately to wipe out with hard punches and brutal force.

But Yanjun is on a whole other level.

This entire night, he hasn’t said a single word. Just threw Nongnong’s arm off him when they arrived at the location and walked in eerily calm without looking back at them. He didn’t even turn his face when Nongnong rushed up beside him, eyes trained on nothing but straight ahead.

Yanjun is even more merciless than he is; while Nongnong is giving the poor soldiers he encounters a quick death with the snap of a neck or a slash of his knife, Yanjun goes right in. Any person that appears in front of him is jerked hard by the arm or leg until there’s a crack that signifies a break, and Yanjun doesn’t even wait for them to finish screaming before he drives his knife into the backs of their necks, their legs, their temples… anywhere he can reach. 

Linong knows not to approach him when he’s in this state. Why would he, when Yanjun’s clothes and hands are soaked through with blood and his face is so dark and unforgiving that even Nongnong, who knows him like the back of his own hand, is so  _ afraid _ . 

Currently, Yanjun was brutally finishing up the last soldier of the pack that had assaulted them, twisting his arm until his shoulder stuck out at a horribly odd angle, and cracking his skull with a hard slam of his head against the floor. Nongnong watched, his own fists bloody, as Yanjun straightened up and, without a hitch, continued to limber down the hall.

Linong wiped the blade of his knife on the shirt of a fallen soldier, and carefully began following Yanjun.

They continue down a few more halls like this, mercilessly and silently taking out any opposition. By the end of their third hall, Linong’s shirt is soaked through with sweat and blood, though it’s still nothing in comparison to what Yanjun looks like.

His best friend’s silver hair is stained with rivets of blood, the substance dripping off the ends and onto his cheeks. Yanjun is slicked all over with red, but all Linong really sees right now is how steely Yanjun’s eyes are, pupils dilated so wide that his eyes have more pit than iris.

Then suddenly, he stops. Linong grinds his heels into the floor and calls out to Yanjun. “Yanjun. Wait.”

Yanjun stops in his tracks, back still facing Linong. He twists his head back, “What.”

Linong turns to his right. “This wall is weird.”

Yanjun begins pacing over, still overly calm and composed. “How.”

“Every wall has had a certain pattern of doors, but there’s this weird space between these two doors, and I need to find out why.”

Linong runs his fingers over the wooden surface, feeling Yanjun’s presence behind him like a cloud of heat, “Hmm. There’s a weird crease here.”

“Kick it down.”

“What?”

“Kick it down!”

“We don’t even know if there’s a door here yet!”

“There is for sure! No one puts a crease in their wall without a door!”

“We don’t know what’s in it!”

“Fucking hell, Linong, just kick the damn door down! I’m only telling you to do it because you’re stronger than I am!”

Linong gives in, pushing Yanjun gently off to a side. Whatever Yanjun is proposing right now, he knows that not doing it would result very badly for him. 

He backs up a little, before rushing for the surface and slamming his knee and right side into it. The wall shakes a little, but it splinters when Nongnong pulls back and kicks it hard right through the center twice more.

The wooden surface explodes in shards at their feet, and Nongnong has to cover his and Yanjun’s eyes in the span of half a second to avoid them. But when the dust clears up and Linong removes his hands from his face, he sees that there’s a limp, curled up form along the wall directly in front of him.

“Zhangjing!” The words tear out of his throat even before he can stop them, and before he can register where he is and how he’s going to get through the splintered doorway, he’s already crouched by his side.

At first, Linong is so relieved and happy to see him, he feels his own vision cloud over with hot tears before he raises his arm for a hug, a slap (he doesn’t know what), and freezes.

Zhangjing has his eyes closed, and he’s lying awkwardly on his side, arms raised above his head restrained by handcuffs. His hair is matted with grease and sweat, and as Linong trails his vision down his body, he sees the flora of purple and red and blue along his neck, his upper torso, his hips, and  _ oh my lord _ . Zhangjing is bare from the torso down, pants torn off and thrown on his side, shirt ridden up halfway up his abdomen and ripped everywhere. His legs are splattered with the same angry purple and red marks, and they’re splayed at such an awkward angle, Linong can’t help but see the image of a rag doll. 

He reaches down at his bare legs, and comes up with his hand sticky. Linong stares as the mess of fluids dripping down his fingers, smelling blood and sweat and cum and saliva.

His heart sinks painfully, and it’s like his stomach has suddenly twisted on itself. Without thinking, he turns Zhangjing on his back, pulling his legs gently apart and pressing his fingers against his inner thighs and up the curve of his ass.

When he feels the same slick of liquids as the puddle pooled around him, Linong feels his throat tighten up so hard, he can’t breath. 

He’s suddenly shoved hard to the side, shoulder skidding ungracefully against the floor. Linong looks up to see a near manic Yanjun shaking Zhangjing by the shoulders so hard, his head lolls off to a side.

“Zhangjing! Can you hear me! Zhangjing! Zhangjing!”

He slaps him hard against the face, and to Nongnong’s relief, he hears a low groan trickle out from Zhangjing’s lips.

Linong stumbles to his feet and puts a hand on Yanjun’s back. 

“Yanjun. He’s alive.” Yanjun pulls back from where he was pressing his ear against Zhangjing’s chest, and stares at the limp body in his arms. Linong squeezes Yanjun’s shoulder hard, and watches as Yanjun’s eyes begin to fall, horrified, down the expanse of his body. He watches as Yanjun brushes his fingers across the angry bruises littered around his neck and hips, and holds his breath when they reach his groin.

Yanjun freezes when he feels Zhangjing’s thighs for the first time, pupils scattering manically like he was desperately trying to not believe what he touched. He slowly brings his hand to his eyes, and Linong braces himself when he sees the recognition in them of what fluids are dripping down his palm.

Linong clenches his jaw in terrible dread as Yanjun folds his fingers over his palm, face slowly shifting to one of fury. 

“Yanjun. We have to get out of here.” He feels himself say, standing up and gently pulling on Yanjun’s shoulder, “We need to get Zhangjing to medical aid.” Yanjun doesn’t move, just continues to stare at his hand. “Yanjun!”

Linong’s shout seems to rouse him, as Yanjun is looking up and silently agreeing within the next few seconds. Linong reaches for Zhangjing, aiming to lift him bridle style, but decides against it when he sees Yanjun make an involuntary move to protect him. He nods at Yanjun, who gently lifts the unconscious boy in his arms, and stands motionlessly looking at the door.

Linong knows that Yanjun is telling him to go first, so he does, clearing a path for Yanjun and Zhangjing behind him and killing anyone that comes to apprehend them. 

He taps into his earpiece, signalling to Xingjie that they’ve found Zhangjing, but doesn’t wait for Xingjie to finish talking before hanging up and continuing forward.

He feels hollow inside: whatever emotions he had before seemed to have been forced out through his lungs, leaving just dread, icy, terrible dread, to fill in the gaps. Linong remembers, suddenly, horribly, Zhangjing’s bright voice telling him that he was going to save his first time for someone he loved, and his stomach lurches in spite of himself.

He looks behind him instinctively, not caring about what’s in front of them. 

Yanjun is still walking almost robotically forward, head held motionlessly high, and arms gently cradling the boy in them. But Linong looks into his eyes and he sees so much blood and ice and death that a shudder runs through him for what Yanjun might be thinking about. They look straight ahead, unwavering, as if he’s afraid of what he might see right underneath them. Zhangjing is limp, rag-doll like in Yanjun’s arms. He’s tiny in comparison to Yanjun, and his entire body is easily enraptured by both Yanjun's arms. Linong passes over his face, afraid of looking at the horrible furrows in his eyebrows and red marks around his throat, and notices that Yanjun has draped his own jacket over Zhangjing’s modesty.

He looks so small and limp and broken that Linong feels a blind sort of fear gripping his chest. Zhangjing’s light laugh, joyful shrieks, hopeless daydreaming, mirthful eyes run in circles through his mind, but all he can focus on right now is the pattern of black and blue trailing all over his body. 

Unable to look anymore, Linong turns back forward, mindlessly shooting an agent peering precariously at them around a corner. They pass him as he falls, a sickening thud against the floor followed by slow choking sounds. 

His eyes promise death.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor baby


	24. Yanjun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ughh :((

Once, when Yanjun had just entered the industry, he was attacked by three other, taller, bigger boys.

They had forced him onto his knees and held him there as one of the boys smashed plates and glasses onto the floor right in front of him. Some of the shards jumped up and sliced at his arms, but Yanjun was too busy struggling and coping with the thought of Yixing or another higher up coming and finding him kneeling in front of a mound of shattered glass. 

He had stared at it, trying to think his way out, as the three boys laughed and pointed at him, and locked the door on their way out, intending to blame him for the mess. Then, later on, he had pushed his hands into the pile of glass and tried to piece some of the plates together, slicing his hands open until they curved open in red smiles and the blood from them stained the floor. 

Yanjun remembers holding a handful of glass dust and tiny shards, squeezing them hard as if to mold them back together, then watching as they trickled stubbornly out of his fingertips.

He feels the same way right now. 

Zhangjing lay limp in his arms, chest lightly heaving in tune with the pace of Yanjun’s heartbeat. He’s soft and broken and so  _ soft _ that Yanjun feels like he’s slipping through his arms, trickling like sand through his fingertips.

Yanjun doesn’t cry; he doesn’t twist his face in fury like Linong, nor does lash out mindlessly at the dwindling opposition that accosts them

Instead, he’s falling. He’s plummeting down a deep and narrow shaft head first, his consciousness so dark that he doesn’t know where he’s going. 

All around him, men are screaming in pain, their last breaths hitching jaggedly as Linong finishes them with a quick bullet or a slash of his knife. But inside him, the noise is so deafening that it drowns out everything except for the breathing of the man in his arms.

Yanjun hears Zhangjing’s voice, bright and cheery and happy, daydreaming to him about the handsome prince that was one day going to sweep him off his feet. He’s laughing too, behind the mesh of fingers he has in front of his face to cover up the red tinge in his cheeks. Yanjun is grinning as well in spite of himself, easily teasing back with how no handsome prince would want someone as annoying as Zhangjing, as he raises his hand above him to block out the sun. He laughs as well when Zhangjing punches his arm, lips pouty and sullen.

Maybe that’s why he was drawn to him in the first place. That innocent, happy, pouty, dramatic atmosphere that surrounds him like a cloud no matter where he goes. Though Yanjun grew up with his own bubble, seemingly untouchable and incredible in the eyes of the other trainees, he could feel Zhangjing’s from a mile away, shining through the rest of the masses no matter where he was.

Maybe that’s why he approached him, that first time after his mission with Linong when they recovered a coded message and needed a techie to decrypt it for them. Maybe that’s why, even though Jeffrey and Xiao Gui were the generally agreed upon best agents for the job, he found himself walking towards the short, fluffy boy with deep brown hair and a contagious smile sitting a little awkwardly in his desk. Maybe that’s why, even though Zhangjing insisted that he ask someone better,  _ more qualified for the job _ , he felt himself slipping out that he wanted  _ him  _ to help them, and no one else.

Maybe that’s why over the years, Zhangjing’s molded himself to a place in Yanjun’s cold heart. The boy who dreamed about impossible, fairy tale situations right beside him even though Yanjun was the broken one, defiled and dirtied every night with the bodies and blood of his enemies. Maybe it was the silly, small flickering of a hope of a world that Zhangjing lived in, so bright and untouched and beautiful, that made Yanjun sometimes ache for normalcy.

But maybe that’s also the reason why he can’t stand it. He  _ can’t _ when he feels robotically between Zhangjing’s legs and comes up with fluids that are foreign, filthy, uncompromising: the ones that Yanjun was supposed to end up with inside him, and not anywhere near the boy who holds stars in his eyes and prayed for someone he truly loved to do everything to him as his one and only. Yanjun shuts off, unable to cope with the tidal wave of horrible, horrible dread coursing like a river through him, when the boy in his arms groans with utter, crushing pain, and the fingerprints of purple and blue are marked so jarringly against his pale skin that Yanjun feels like someone’s defiled a temple.

Maybe it’s the reason why Yanjun can’t say anything, even when they come out to the front and Zhengting and Xukun and Xingjie and Chengcheng and Justin are looking at him with so much relief that Yanjun wants to fall right there and cut into himself for allowing Zhangjing to be safe again but  _ not, never again _ at the same time. 

“Oh thank god, he’s okay.” He hears Zhengting’s relieved voice through the thumping of his own heart, and somewhere far away, he hearts Linong’s low voice filling in the spaces he neither has the heart nor courage to say. 

For the first time since he saw Zhangjing lying huddled and bent on the floor of the room he was being held in, Yanjun focuses on his surroundings. Through the darkness that seemed to have engulfed him, he sees Xukun’s face, pale and stretched, mouth and eyes hardening in the way that water freezes over in stark winter. Xingjie beside him is dark, his face turned downwards, solemn fury and danger flashing in his slitted eyes. Zhengting’s mouth is slightly open in both horror and shock at the words Linong is pouring out of his grim face, and Chengcheng behind them isn’t smiling, danger radiating off him like waves.

Justin is green and livid. His face breaks open in pure, uncontrolled fury at the first sentence Linong tells them, and within seconds he’s walking towards their car, fists clenched so hard by his side, Yanjun can see the outline of his knuckles. 

He also sees, for the first time, the man cowering in fear right in the path of Justin’s fury. He’s handsome, with rounded eyes and lips, and hair that’s slicked roughly off to a side.

Then, about the same moment that Justin raises his fists above him, Yanjun lashes out blindly, emotion and fury and grief and worry and disgust and horror slamming him all at the same time. He mindlessly hands Zhangjing over to a startled Xingjie, before ripping Justin away from the man and facing him himself.

Justin falls on his ass to the side, and Chengcheng rushes over to help him up. But all Yanjun can really see is the  _ red red red _ that suddenly stains his vision and fills him up to the brim.

He aims his first punch at the side of the man’s face, hearing a dull crack as his fist impacts his cheekbone, but not feeling any sensation in his hand at all. “It was you, wasn’t it! It was you!” He hears himself yelling, but he’s so far gone now he isn’t even sure when he made the connection between Zhangjing’s bruises and this man here. 

The man groans, “No, no, no, not me. It was Hendery. Not me!” But he’s cut off by Yanjun’s fist by his mouth, and the end of his sentence ends in a deep groan.

Yanjun pummels him, feeling nothing but the blood rushing in his ears and the oddly warm sensation of blood gushing over his hands. There was already blood on them before-- where he got it, he can’t seem to remember-- but what was dried is now coated in a new layer of slick scarlet that eerily matches the tinge over his vision.

He knows the man is screaming, screaming so loud he feels the vibration of his voice under his fingertips. But all he can do is bring his knee up hard and slam his head against it so hard, he has to readjust himself before he realizes that it’s a tooth that broke off and to his side.

Red, red, red. “You took my Zhangjing! You raped him! You took him from me!” A voice is screaming with those of the man’s, and it takes a while before Yanjun realizes that it belongs to himself. 

Then suddenly, just as suddenly as he began, he’s torn away, fists still lunging out and legs still raised in a stomp. There are hands on his shoulders and arms, and it’s so rough and he’s so focused on the man before him that Yanjun elbows mindlessly behind him. 

Zhengting catches it in midair with the skill and delicacy of the Ace assassin he was always trained to be, fingers digging into his flesh as Yanjun’s arm is suddenly bent behind him and his legs are swept out beneath him.

“Yanjun!” Over the din of his surroundings, Zhengting’s firm, fiery voice burns through the wall Yanjun has encased himself in, “Yanjun!”

He hits the ground hard, livid at Zhengting for restraining him, “Fucking let go! Let go! Let! Go!”

Zhengting pins him underneath him, and Yanjun is suddenly furious, so furious at how even Zhengting,  _ Zhengting _ , seems to want to hurt Zhangjing. “Fuck off, Zhengting! Let me go!”

“Yanjun! You’re going to kill him!”

“Good! Let me go!” He knees up sloppily, but it’s pressed down hard by Zhengting’s thigh. 

“We need to interrogate him first!” Zhengting hits him at his cheekbone so hard, Yanjun feels the pain blooming over it even before he registers that Zhengting moved.

Then, Xingjie is there as well, holding him down as Yanjun continues to scream profanities and struggle. Him and Zhengting pin him to the ground like a butterfly in a collection as he beats his arms and legs at them in a desperate attempt to get free.

But it’s the sight of Zhangjing, again, that stops him. Through the crack under Xingjie’s arm, he can see him, limp and still handcuffed, in Chengcheng arms. Justin is supporting his head, but he looks so frail and delicate and quiet that suddenly, Yanjun feels the air rush out of his lungs as he feels nothing but the boy with chocolate brown hair and the biggest stomach and the widest gummy smile. 

He gazes at him, the flora of purple and red and blue scattered all across his bare legs, and all at once, the fight rushes out of him. In its place, hot tears are brimming in his eyes, blurring his vision and making his throat clench up so hard he can’t breath, he can’t breath at all.

Yanjun probably goes slack, as suddenly, Xingjie and Zhengting are pulling away and pulling him up into a sitting position. His vision is clouded over, and it’s always Zhangjing,  _ Zhangjing _ that makes him feel something and right now, all he can feel is the sharp tear of pain across his chest.

Linong is standing with Xukun somewhere off to the side, apparently finishing up his interrogation with the nearly unconscious man Yanjun now only vaguely remembers touching, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

He wants to scream, scream his lungs out that  _ his  _ Zhangjing was hurt like this, so thoroughly and so damaging that even without talking to him, Yanjun knows that there’s a hollowness that’s filled him. He feels like he’s floating in a bottomless and suffocating pool of water, lungs as heavy as lead, as Zhangjing’s smile, his lips, his eyes, his laugh all course over him in one solid wave.

He doesn’t know he’s crying until Linong is beside him, wiping away the new feeling of stubborn drops of liquid falling hot and fast down his cheeks. He watches as Chengcheng turns and carries Zhangjing’s broken body into the car, zoning out Nongnong’s gentle murmurs in his ear. 

Maybe it’s because of Zhangjing that he feels for the first time what he thinks might be a broken spirit, if not a broken heart. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why tf do i do this to them ughh


	25. Ziyi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(

Ziyi knows there’s something wrong even before he sees them.

It’s probably due to years of being the perceptive one, the person that watches from the background in fondness as his friends scream and tussle between them, but he knows that something has gone bad as soon as he lays eyes on Xukun’s impassive face at the head of their rescue team. 

Xukun is stony faced, and Ziyi is about to ask what happened when he catches sight of Yanjun right behind him, holding a limp Zhangjing in his arms. He opens his mouth in a sigh of relief, aiming to moan his thankfulness that Zhangjing is safe, but it’s cut out when Yanjun shoves past him in the direction of the medical wing, a worried and equally brash Nongnong hot on his heels.

So instead, he turns to Xukun and Xingjie, pressing near them, wordlessly asking for details. Xingjie glances to his side to check that Yanjun is gone, before speaking.

“Mission was a success. We blew up the building after we left, and Nongnong and Xukun got a name from one of the heads inside. The target that Yanjun and Zhangjing were trying to take out a couple days ago got away though, Hendery Huang or something.”

Ziyi nods, before pressing, “But Zhangjing?”

Xukun still isn’t talking, his face as taut and pale as a stretched rubber band. Xingjie lowers his voice, “We think he’s been raped.”

Ziyi sucks in a breath, feeling his stomach turn slightly, “How?”

“There are fluids between his legs, and he was naked and handcuffed when Yanjun and Nong found him. He’s been unconscious this whole time, so all we can hope is that he didn’t have any lasting brain damage or anything when he wakes up.”

Ziyi nods, composing himself. Zhangjing, the cheery and light boy that made everyone around him feel like nothing was wrong and that the sun would rise again the next morning. But whatever emotions surge up from what Xingjie tells him, he cages it in himself, putting his leader and impassive face forward instead. “Well. Fuck. I hope he’s going to be okay.”

Xingjie growls, “We all do. We’re gonna get Hendery Huang one of these days and I’m gonna make sure he doesn’t do anything else but scream for the rest of his life.” He glances at Chengcheng and Justin, standing a little awkwardly off to the side, listening in on their conversation. “I’m gonna go bring the kids to the medical wing. They have cuts and bruises all over themselves and Mubo is gonna flip out if I don’t bring them to him right away.”

As Xingjie ushers the two younger boys out of the room, Ziyi turns back onto Xukun. “So.”

“So.” Xukun echoes, sinking down into the couch. Ziyi joins him, crossing his legs.

“Zhangjing…”

Xukun snaps his head up, “Fuck, Ziyi.”

Ziyi knows exactly what’s going through his head, “Kun, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Fuck, bro. I shouldn’t have only put Yanjun and Zhangjing on that mission. I should have gone with them instead of being bitchy at Zhengting. Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ . Now Zhangjing is hurt, and I don’t even know what’s gonna happen when he wakes up.” Xukun snarls back, burying his face in his hands. “I’m such a bad leader.”

“You’re not.”

“I let one of my agents get captured and  _ raped _ , Ziyi. What kind of leader does that make me?”

“One that needs some time to remember that you did the best you could, leading a rescue party to save him and bring him back alive.”

Xukun laughs at that in the mockingly jarring tone he only uses when he’s feeling cynical or stubborn, “I didn’t even really lead. Zhengting basically revised my entire plan at the doorway.”

Ziyi raises an eyebrow, “Didn’t we decide on a game plan before?”

“Yeah, well, Zhengting revamped our plan. I went with him and Xingjie went by himself to try to disable the secondary security system.”

“What?” Ziyi’s off the couch in seconds, squatting in front of Xukun’s bent form, “Why didn’t you go with Xingjie and let Zhengting go alone?”

Xukun snaps up, snarling, “I don’t fucking know! I just couldn’t let Zhengting go by himself.” He takes a deep breath, shutting his eyes before burying them in his hands again. When he speaks again, it’s quiet and ragged, “I asked to go with him.” 

Ziyi’s heart sinks, tugging Xukun into his arms without any more words. He puts his head on top of his blond hair, and wraps around him like a cage, feeling Xukun’s head lean into his chest. 

It’s the knowledge that his best friend still can’t let go, still can’t stop being hurt and feeling worthless that makes him so afraid, all of a sudden. That Xukun would shatter apart again and this time, there would be too many pieces to pick up to rebuild him.

  
  


***

Later that night, Ziyi found himself walking animatedly down the halls to his and Xukun’s dorm room. Xukun had gone off earlier, saying that he needed some alone time, and Ziyi had relented even though there were bruises and scabs littered across his arms and knuckles. He knew that Xukun needed the few hours of beating at punch bags and kicking until his shins bruised more than he needed medical treatment for his hands; he let him go after a quick, quiet reminder to bandage or tape his fists first, before his best friend took off. Xukun always ran the fastest when he was stressed or upset, like he was trying to outrun the stifling emotions himself.

But that left Ziyi alone, frustrated and afraid for his friend. 

He continued to pad down the halls, hands in his pockets, mind and feet drifting aimlessly around.

Once, when Zhengting had just left the agency, Ziyi had walked in on Xukun throwing knives at the wall in one of the training centers.

“You’re going to get in trouble if you destroy the wall like that.”

Xukun had straightened, stared impassively at him. “I won’t. I’m the only ace they’ve got now.” He was cold, the bitterness dripping off his words.

Ziyi went to comfort him, like he always did. He reached for the knife clenched in Xukun’s hand, moving to gently twist it out and onto the floor, when Xukun suddenly lunged and slammed him against the wall.

“Xukun-” He began, still calm, understanding that his friend was distressed. Who wouldn’t be, when the boy that made stars appear in Xukun’s eyes suddenly dropped off the face of the planet?

However, he didn’t expect Xukun’s lips, rough and forceful to be pressed up against his own. His eyes widened, and he made the motion to push Xukun off.

Xukun just pulled himself in further, hands coming up to press Ziyi’s head into his. His mouth slotted sloppily against Ziyi’s, tongue swiping at the crease between his lips. Xukun tasted salty and rough, and Ziyi had to shove hard to get him off himself.

“Xukun.” He began again, voice shaky now but still holding onto the calm that he was known for, “I know you’re hurting, but-”

“Please, Ziyi.” Xukun’s eyes were dark and stormy: desperate. He pressed himself onto Ziyi’s chest, breathing heavily onto Ziyi’s lips again as he peered wildly into Ziyi’s own shaken gaze.

But that was all it took. Ziyi didn’t question him any further, and went lax in Xukun’s arms as Xukun leaned forward again, landing his mouth on the side of his lip. He let out a shuddering breath as Xukun began to mouth along his collarbone, fingers flying desperately across his chest, his abdomen, his hips. 

This was maybe the nature of their relationship: a mutualistic push and pull for Ziyi to hold Xukun together the best he could, and for Xukun to take what Ziyi wanted him to. 

So when Xukun licked into his mouth, deep and filthy and hot, Ziyi kissed him back, grappling his blond hair and pushing him onto his back. He broke off with his own gasp, and sucked hard at the point at Xukun’s neck that he knew where he needed it. 

Xukun moans somewhere, a little too late, in the middle of everything, and Ziyi echoes it with a groan of his own. Xukun is broken, shattered everywhere underneath him, and Ziyi doesn’t care about anything but trying to put him back together. Even when Xukun moans a different name, nails digging into his back and teeth grazing his shoulder, Ziyi lets him. He lets himself do anything he knows Xukun needs right now, and tries to reassemble the pieces left the best he could.

Ziyi knew Xukun didn’t love him like that, and at the same time, he also knew that he didn’t either. Ziyi was the sea and Xukun was the fisherman, a mutual respect between each other that didn’t extend past give and take. But even the sea and the fisherman have a certain degree of love between them. Why else would the fishermen return to no other place than the sea, and why else would the sea always give up part of itself for the fisherman?

Xukun told him once, when they had finished up for the night, and Ziyi was done molding him back together the best he could, that Ziyi was too kind. Too kind to let Xukun to use him and do anything to him when neither of them felt anything more than just trust. Ziyi had pulled Xukun even closer to his chest, and hummed into his hair, reassuring him that he wanted this. Anything to give his best friend what he knew he needed.

But maybe it was the same ‘kindness’ that Xukun said of him that dragged him down in times like these, where he felt lost and airy, with nothing to hold his own weight down. He held down so many people like Xukun, opening up himself for the taking the way he wanted them to, but sometimes, when he found his own being fall away from stability, he didn’t know where to turn to. 

Which perhaps is why he suddenly felt so relieved at the sight of a fluffy headed boy with round glasses and broad shoulders turned inwards in nervousness waiting in front of his dorm room. 

“Ziyi.” Jeffrey begins, awkwardly tucking his fingers into his sleeves, “Can I ask you a favour?”

Ziyi stares at him. There are a thousand things Ziyi can count right off the top of his head of what he’s done for other people, not because he’s ‘kind’ like Xukun says, but because he wants to, it’s part of who he is. But Jeffrey, the quiet, brilliant techie he only sees when he needs down time or an asset to a mission, is the one person that he can’t recall ever stepping in for.

“Sure, what’s up?”

Jeffrey looks down at his hands. “Well, I room with Mubo and Qin Fen.”

Ziyi nods, “Yes?”

“And they’re dating.”

“Yes?”

Jeffrey blushes, colour spreading uniformly across his cheekbones. Ziyi is taken aback by the sight, the image of the usually stoic, quiet boy suddenly flooding with emotion, “I think they’re doing it.”

Ziyi pauses for a second, surveying the uncomfortable blush and twitching hands Jeffrey is sporting before erupting in laughter. “Oh my god, Jeffrey. That’s what you’re so nervous about?” He pats Jeffrey on the head, “You poor kid. I bet Mubo and Fen are loud as hell.”

“They are.” Jeffrey confirms bashfully, “But thank god they are, otherwise I would have walked in on them.” 

Ziyi continues to laugh, “Do you need a place to sleep? Come room with me for a night; you don’t want to put up with Fen and Mubo rolling around each other.”

“But won’t there be any room? Your room only has two beds right?”

Ziyi waves his hand and gestures Jeffrey into his dorm, “Xukun is a little occupied right now. He probably won’t come back until the morning.” He knows this to be a fact; Xukun will stay fighting at a punching bag until early morning, then go someplace else private and dark to run his emotions out.

Jeffrey sits down awkwardly on Xukun’s bed, watching as Ziyi throws a shirt at him, “Wear these. The chest area might be a little tight but overall it should be pretty comfy.”

Jeffrey begins to pull it over him without question, “I guess Xukun’s pretty bothered by the mission, huh.”

His voice is dry and tense, and Ziyi remembers that Jeffrey was close to Zhangjing. “Yeah. I don’t think anyone is happy about what happened to Zhangjing.”

“What about you?”

Ziyi stares at him, a little surprised, “Me?”

Jeffrey nods, “How are you feeling right now?”

“It doesn’t really matter; Yanjun, Linong, and Xukun’s feelings right now are more important.”

Jeffrey begins to tuck himself into the blankets, “Your emotions are just as important, Ziyi. You don’t always have to be the strong one.” He kicks the end of the blanket on top of himself, “If you need someone to talk to, you know you can aways talk to me.” 

As Jeffrey pulls the covers to his ears and shifts himself so that he’s facing the wall, Ziyi stares, motionless, at the huddled and lightly breathing boy on Xukun’s bed. 

He doesn’t say anything else. Just clicks off the light and climbs into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually dont ship ziyi and jeffrey. if i had to ship ziyi with someone, it would be xukun, but i cant have yikun and zhengkun at the same time and only choose one in the end. ziyi is a soft boy so we cant hurt him too badly.
> 
> xukun in real life would never let jeffrey sleep in his bed. he doesnt even let anyone sit on it hehe. probably doesnt even like it when someone breaths on it :3


	26. Xukun

Xukun’s fists are slamming into the sand punching bag in their smallest training center. 

He’s relentless, the sweat dripping off him, teeth gritted as he pushed himself past his usual limit.

Ziyi had told him to bandage his fists before anything else, but the need for pain and force was greater than any logical argument, so he didn’t. Just stripped off his jacket as lunged for the punching bag as soon as he hit the room.

Admittedly, that’s probably why his fists are bloody and bruised, cut open again after he worked through the scabs, and blood staining the fabric of the bag underneath them. It stings, but the dull throb coursing through his hands are welcomed, and Xukun doesn’t even bat an eye when a sharp stab of pain runs through one of his fingers. As long as it can tear his mind away from the greater wound in his chest, he doesn’t mind any more physical hurting.

When did this all start? He supposes it did when Zhengting first tapped him on the shoulder back at the mansion, when he insisted that he accompany Zhengting on clearing out the center, when he allowed himself to be weak and vulnerable to the drug that is Zhu Zhengting again.

He still can’t figure out why he raised his voice and told Zhengting that he was going to go with him, let the words spew out of his mouth even before they passed through his head. He knows that they came pouring out of the old stitched up wound somewhere in his chest again, leaking through the loosened string that he had so carefully wound up around it. 

But Zhengting. It was like a blade had swooped in and ripped the stitched apart again. In the same place. By just being there and reminding him every day of who he was and what he would be.

Why couldn’t he just let go?

Ziyi had offered to help him out. To offer up himself again and let Xukun use him however he needed to. But Xukun was done with that. He was sick of himself always using Ziyi, no matter how many times the man insists that it’s okay. Knowing him the way Xukun did, he didn’t doubt that. A part of who Ziyi was was how kind he was, and how he truly loved helping the ones he cared about, even if he didn’t admit it.

But not today. Today was a battleground. Even if he was desperate enough and selfish enough to seek out Ziyi, he knows that he would hurt him in some way. Bite through his skin or tear him apart with his own hands in his rage and pain and frustration. He wouldn’t be able to do it anyways, with Zhengting lurking in the halls.

So the punching bag it is.

Xukun’s been here one, two hours? He isn’t too sure. He knows that it’s been a while though, as he hears the people outside mill about and talk anxiously, before filtering out to their own dorms for the night. The building is silent, except for the sounds of his own fists.

With each punch, he feels part of the frustration flow out of him, only to be replaced by a mixture of anger and annoyance. 

What kind of leader is he, that allows his agents, his friends to be captured and tortured in one of the worst ways possible? He already knows that whatever Zhangjing had to go through in the two days they didn’t send a rescue party out must have been absolute hell. Hell that won’t be healed or forgotten so easily. Yanjun and Linong are undoubtedly furious. Who wouldn’t be, when their leader neglected their very best friend’s safety? He saw the look on Yanjun’s face: hurt, afraid, deathly angry at what happened. Yanjun wasn’t known for being kind like Ziyi, and it would show up soon one way or another. Even Linong-- his sweet, cute, considerate, favourite-- was stoney, fury flickering up dangerously in his usually sunny eyes. If only he hadn’t been so carried away with his own emotions on the day that they went out for their mission. If he hadn’t been so selfish and only cared about him and Zhengting’s argument, he could have checked up on them, made sure their van was secured, and hell, maybe even go with them.

And Zhengting. Fucking hell. Why was it always Zhengting? Why was he always messing up the tempo Xukun set for himself, barging in on his life even after he fought to rebuild what he had torn down? Him being there was bad enough: enough to pull open the unhealed wound inside him. But fighting with him, forcing himself to relive what they did, what they had  _ had _ , hurt even worse.

What really did make him fume in anger was how they still fit together perfectly. How they still knew exactly what the other would do, and how to coordinate themselves to balance them out. How they naturally gravitated towards each other during the most tense and dangerous and stressful moments, back to back, bending and supporting each other the way they knew they would. How they still completed each other, even after all that had happened.

It filled him with a burning rage. Something had torn inside of him when Zhengting left all those years ago- a wound that Xukun was content on letting heal slowly and with the passing of time, eventually fade if not close up entirely. But how Zhengting was still able to mold himself to Xukun’s body, flow naturally into the cracks Xukun had, was so infuriating. He decided to leave, and he was the one who damaged him the most. Why was he also the one who could fill him the best?

Xukun punches hard at the last thought, blood rushing to his ears. The sweat stings the cut above his eyebrow, but he barely notices it.

Instead, he senses it. The unique silence that only one person in the world can replicate.

He spins around just as the door is pushed open, coming face to face with an impassive Zhengting.

He freezes in the doorway, staring evenly at Xukun’s own gaze. His eyes are closed off, walled up, and Xukun can’t read anything reflected in them.

They don’t speak for several moments, just staring at each other. Zhengting hums once when he realizes that Xukun isn’t going to lash out at him or yell at him to leave, and steps cautiously into the room.

“I could hear you from a mile away.”

“So could I.”

“I was silent.”

“I know.”

They look at each other again. Xukun notices a bandaged cut on the side of his shoulder blade.

Zhengting clears his throat, “It’s three am, Xukun.”

“Uh huh. And?”

“It’s late.”

“You’re not asleep either.”

“I was helping the medics patch everyone up. They just finished with Yanjun. I had to fight him to pull him away from Zhangjing.”

“Oh.”

Another silence. Zhengting takes another step forward.

“They were going to call for you, but I told them to get a good rest instead.” He blinks, “I said that I could handle you.”

Xukun doesn’t say anything. Zhengting waits for a moment like he expects to hear something, but settles into even silence when he doesn’t.

It’s Xukun that speaks first, “I don’t need medical aid.”

Zhengting sighs, “I knew you would say that. That’s why I told Wenjun, Fen, and Mubo to go sleep.”

“I’m fine.”

“Your hands are a mess.”

“This is normal.”

Zhengting moves faster than Xukun can even finish the sentence. Xukun knows that he would have been floored in milliseconds if he hadn’t instinctually sensed what Zhengting was going to do. So when Zhengting sweeps his legs under him in an effort to trip him up, Xukun twists and pushes him hard in the gut instead.

Zhengting is probably more tired than he thought, as he takes the punch without so much as a defense or retaliation and stumbles back. Xukun sees the dark circles around his eyes, and wonders for a second if he’s been losing sleep the same way he has, imagining what was, what could have been. Does he stay up at night as well, staring at the ceiling, reliving their life before and wondering what they would have been? Is he also plagued by nightmares that always involve despair and pain and separation?

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t even know that’s he’s climbing on top of Zhengting, until the boy underneath him has his hands around his throat.

He looks down.

Zhengting, pale, bandaged, weary, has his hands softly encased around his throat, eyes apprehensive and tired. There are bruises littered across his arms, his shoulders, the part of his abdomen that was exposed when Xukun pushed him to the ground: purple and green against his creamy skin. His light brown hair is tousled to one side, sticky with the dried sweat from before, falling over his creased eyebrows.

Xukun rakes his gaze up and down, each time seeing something new. The split in his upper lip. The vein that protrudes on his right hand. The line of his collarbone peeking out from under his shirt.

He hates the fire suddenly ignited inside of him, that screams how utterly attractive everything is. 

“Xukun.” Zhengting says softly, unsurely, “What are you doing?”

Xukun stares at him, still pinned underneath him. He’s not struggling, simply gazing up at him as Xukun forces his wrists into the floor. It drives him crazy.

As a rush of heat passes through him, he reaches down instinctively and bites his lip, hard. There’s little feeling of his lips against his, but it doesn’t matter; Xukun feels the fire more than anything else.

Zhengting’s blood gushes over his own mouth in seconds, and Xukun can tell that Zhengting feels it with his sharp intake of breath. But rather than let him let it out, Xukun forces his mouth on top of his.

It’s intoxicating, the pressure of Zhengting’s mouth, chapped and salty, against his own bloody lips. He forces his tongue past his lips instinctively, flickering against Zhengting’s own. 

Zhengting groans from underneath him, and twists one of his arms free from Xukun’s hands. But instead of pushing him off, he’s yanking on Xukun’s hair, drawing him in deeper into himself.

Fire, fire, fire. When Xukun finally breaks it off, he pulls back and looks at him, thorough and desperate.

Zhengting’s bitten lip is swollen, his eyes slightly shut and gaze fiery. His hand still hovers in Xukun’s hair, and the feeling is so lustful, so intoxicating, that Xukun growls as he forces down on him again.

Against his mouth, he growls, “Do you know what I fucking hate?”

Zhengting moans in response, moving his mouth heavily against the side of his.

“That we still click together so well in a fight. I fucking hate that.”

Zhengting agrees. Xukun knows from how he’s pulled even closer, mouth sloppy clashing against each other, and he hates, he resents how even now, they fit into each other so well. Xukun slots his mouth against his, aligns his hips against Zhengting’s pelvis, and grinds down needily, desperately, instinctively.

Zhengting has both hands freed now, and he’s pulling Xukun down, one hand on the back of his neck, the other tangled gloriously in his hair. They’re animalistic, and Xukun bites more than he kisses, but it’s so good, so drunkenly wonderful, that he doesn’t mind.

Desperately, Zhengting flips over, mouth still interlocked with his, and straddles himself on top of Xukun. Xukun groans at the feeling, and finds his hands fluttering across the gorgeous, so beautiful curves of Zhengting’s body on top of his.

It’s all instinct now, but that’s how they always were anyways. Zhengting mouths heavily at Xukun’s neck, and Xukun presses his hips up with a loud groan at the heat spreading from his collar. He pulls his hands naturally under Zhengting’s shirt, fingers the abs across his stomach, and relishes the touches against his own body. He begins to trace his hands upwards, lifting Zhengting’s shirt in the process, and pulls Zhengting up from his shoulder back to his mouth.

They stay locked like that for a couple of moments, mouths fitted against each other, breath heavy and bodies tangled into each other. He hates it, loathes it with every cell of his body. But it’s so addicting, Zhu Zhengting is so addicting, that he lets it go.

The tension in his body is rising, and Xukun has to moan to make Zhengting move again. But like he expected, Zhengting’s already beginning, tracing his way down his torso the way he knows he wants it. 

Zhengting’s fingers press hard, hot against his body, leaving fire in their wake. Xukun is about to groan again when suddenly, it all freezes.

Zhengting’s hands still, hovering over his hips. Xukun looks up to see him stare incredulously, incomprehensibly at him. Xukun stares back, tense and burning.

He still doesn’t say anything when Zhengting suddenly pushes off him, climbing up fast from his place on his lap. He doesn’t even think when he colours, red blooming fast and hard across his face and into his ears. Just watches, stares stupidly as Zhengting lunges and stumbles for the door, not meeting his eyes, and sprints down the hall.

Xukun just lies there, unmoving, as all the emotion rushes over him at the same time.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(


	27. Yanjun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah zhangjun

Yanjun doesn’t sleep.

There’s gentle yellow light streaming in through the sole window of the hospital wing, artificial but comforting from the light placed outside. The building is quiet, save for the muffled thumping of probably Xukun’s fists, and the light breathing of the other boys around him. 

Linong is gently heaving on the hospital bed right beside him, eyes shut underneath the pale yellow light. His hands and one side of his face are wrapped up in clean white bandages, but his expression is so even and peaceful that Yanjun can’t resist but pull the blankets more securely over him. 

Beside him, there’s a space where Nongnong had left a spot for him, complete with another pillow and blanket. Linong had always been a still sleeper, so Yanjun isn’t surprised to still see the spot intact. 

But Yanjun doesn’t sleep. He watches instead, from his place on the wooden chair beside the beds, the boy gently breathing in front of him.

Zhangjing is almost peaceful when he’s like this, lost in the haze of drugs Qin Fen injected him with. His wrists are free now, though Yanjun can still see the outline of bruises around them where the cuffs were, and they’re softly placed by his body. He smells like coolness with a hint of spice: the scent of the healing lotion smeared across the marks on his neck, collarbone, and thighs. But Yanjun can still see the tensed fingertips, the slightly opened mouth, and he knows that he’s not.

On any other day, Yanjun falls asleep first. He collapses into his bunk as soon as he stumbles out of the shower, and is out even before he can remember to take his slippers off. Linong tries to follow him soon after, tucking himself into bed around the same time as he does, but Yanjun knows from years of being shaken awake by the boy that he has a hard time sleeping, spending more time staring at the ceiling, bothered by whatever it was that day, than actually trying to will himself into slumber. 

Yanjun probably would have never slept a complete nights sleep, having always been roused at some untimely hour by Nongnong’s guilty, plagued face, and not finding the heart to turn him away. That is, until Zhangjing decided to room with them. 

Zhangjing-- sweet, kind, hopeful Zhangjing-- was able to sooth Nongnong to sleep every single night with his whispers of a different reality or silly daydreams. If Yanjun did, by some miracle, stay up a little longer to listen in, he would hear the soft giggles and silent murmurs of the two other boys in their dorm. Then, once he heard Nongnong’s breathing ease and smooth out, he would hear Zhangjing quietly shuffling over to his own bed. Yanjun never got to hear the sounds of what Zhangjing was like when he fell asleep; he was always out before then.

But now, everything was reversed. Zhangjing lay gently breathing on the hospital bed, chest slightly raising up and down, and Yanjun sat stiff and awake on the chair beside him.

Yanjun sat there, motionless, until the yellow light outside the window shut off like it was programmed to do, and the only light that filtered in was from the sliver of the moon that peeked out from under the sheet of clouds. He didn’t move from his spot for the entire night, only leaning forward and behind him every once in a while to check in on Nongnong and Zhangjing’s sleeping. It was only when soft grey light began to pour in through the window that Yanjun roused himself.

He stood up and walked carefully to the window, placing his hands on the wooden sill and leaning his head into the glass. The sun was nowhere to be seen, but by the sliver of red light peeking above the hazy horizon, Yanjun knew it would appear sooner or later. Above him, the sky was cloudy, musty, all greys and whites and browns mixed together.

He stood still for a couple of moments, watching the red get brighter and larger, until suddenly, he heard the gentle groaning of someone behind him.

Yanjun spun around, intending to reprimand Nongnong for being loud, when instead he’s met with the sight of Zhangjing, eyes still shut tight, furrowing his eyebrows and mouth that indicates that he’s at least conscious. Within seconds, he’s bent over by the bed, peering carefully at the boy under his face.

Zhangjing groans and raises one of his hands to shield his eyes, brows furrowing so tight it’s like he’s blocking out the sun. As Yanjun accidentally bumps against the framework of his bed, Zhangjing’s eyes fly open.

Yanjun steps back, startled at the sudden motion, as Zhangjing gasps, eyes trained on the ceiling. Yanjun lunges forward again and pushes his face in his field of view.

“Zhangjing! Zhangjing!”

Zhangjing seems to focus a little at the sound, pupils quivering, and Yanjun continues to murmur his name until Zhangjing rests his eyes on his face.

“Zhangjing, it’s Yanjun. It’s Yanjun. You’re safe now, Zhangjing. Zhangjing.”

Zhangjing makes a low groaning sound, quickly running his tongue across his upper lip when he realizes that no intelligible words are coming forth.

“Right, right, water. Drink this.” Yanjun untwists the cap to the plastic bottle of water Mubo had bullied him into keeping, but that he hadn’t actually drank in the night. He holds it in one hand while taking Zhangjing’s hand in the other, aiming to wrap his fingers around it.

Zhangjing tenses hard at the slight touch, and Yanjun drops his hand at the sudden shock that passes under his fingertips. As Zhangjing’s hand flops to the bed, Yanjun holds the water out instead.

“Drink this when you’re ready.”

Zhangjing runs his eyes around his surroundings, taking in Yanjun’s crouched form and the grey and white of their medical wing. He rests his eyes on Nongnong’s sleeping form beside them for a second, before cautiously reaching for the water.

The liquid splashes into his mouth, and Yanjun has to jerk the bottle back away from him so that Zhangjing doesn’t accidentally choke himself with his own shaky grip. 

“Careful. Don’t choke.”

Zhangjing coughs, licks his lips and the water on them again, and swallows hard. “Yanjun.”

“Yes, Zhangjing. I’m here. It’s Yanjun.”

Zhangjing rests his eyes on his for a moment, before suddenly turning over and clutching Yanjun’s arm. Startled, Yanjun looks down to see Zhangjing brown curls buried in the crook of his jacket, body twisted so that the tubes still hooked into his arm are tangled and strained.

“Yanjun!” Zhangjing’s voice is filled but so eerily quiet that Yanjun has to lean down, “Yanjun!”

Yanjun gently lays a hand on Zhangjing’s back, pausing when he feels the flinch again. He begins to smooth down softly when he feels the muscles on his back relax, and with his other hand, wraps it securely around Zhangjing’s torso. “You’re safe now, Zhangjing. You’re safe.”

Zhangjing shoots up, and his eyes are so wild and full of fear that his pupils are the size of pinpricks. He can’t seem to stop saying “Yanjun!” over and over again, pitch raising in urgency until Yanjun can’t stand the alarm reflected on his face any longer.

“Calm down, Zhangjing. You’re safe with me. Yes, yes. It’s Yanjun. You’re safe now, Zhangjing, I promise.”

Zhangjing just stares at him in one long moment, before cracking completely. He buries his head in Yanjun’s chest again, and, even though he doesn’t feel tears, Yanjun knows that he’s traumatized from the horrible shaking that runs through Zhangjing’s body.

“Oh Yanjun. Yanjun. I’m disgusting now.”

The effect is instantaneous. Yanjun’s heart clenches so hard he can actually feel the dull pain eroding against it.

He swallows the lump in his throat. “Don’t fucking say that, Zhangjing. You’re not disgusting.” He gingerly smooths through Zhangjing’s hair, “You’re not disgusting.”

“You don’t know what I did.” Zhangjing’s voice is muffled, body still shaking so hard Yanjun can feel his heartbeat thumping wildly under his skin.

“I do, Zhangjing, but-” Zhangjing’s head shoots up so hard he hits Yanjun’s chin. He looks strickenly at Yanjun’s startled face, and there’s so much fear and horror reflected in his brown eyes Yanjun can’t help but suddenly connect his expression to those of his targets before their deaths.

“Oh, no no no no no. You know already? Oh  _ no _ . No, no,  _ no _ -”

“Zhangjing.” Yanjun says firmly, “Are you listening? I don’t find you disgusting at all. You’re still the same Zhangjing I knew and grew up with; nothing will change that.”

Zhangjing’s eyes are manic, and when he speaks again, his voice is urgent and horrible, “You don’t understand, Yanjun! I’m repulsive now! I let them use me!” His face crumbles, “So many people.”

Yanjun’s blood freezes over at the words. “So many people?” The words come echoing stupidly out of his mouth.

“So many. It was just one person at first, but then… more came… and more… and-” Zhangjing’s lips quiver hard, and all of a sudden, nothing else matters. Yanjun doesn’t care about anything else but how he so desperately does not want Zhangjing to finish his thought. So before anything else comes out of Zhangjing’s mouth, he pulls him in a crushing hug.

They don’t say anything for a couple of moments. Zhangjing is trembling in his embrace, the palms of his hands gently pressed against his chest like he wants to push away but doesn’t have the strength to do so. Yanjun just clings onto him tighter, and, even though Zhangjing isn’t crying, he feels a blinding heat near the corners of his own eyes.

It drives him mad, how he’s crying when Zhangjing is so hurt, so afraid in his arms. His tears drip onto Zhangjing’s hair, and through the haze, he can still see the pattern of black and blue trailing down the back of his neck and under his shirt, tainting, mocking, and foreign. 

“I’m sorry.” The whisper is so quiet, so tired, so painful that Yanjun  _ hurts _ so badly, that Zhangjing, even after going through so much hell because of Yanjun’s mistakes, is  _ still _ trying to blame himself, is trying to apologize.

He wants to sob, to scream that it’s not Zhangjing. It’s  _ him _ that should be so, so sorry that all of this happened. He wants to bury himself like a child in blankets and let Zhangjing coax him out. He wants to be annoyingly angry like that time he ran out of bread and let Zhangjing placate him by going to bring him more. 

But it’s not the time for that. Instead, he whispers back equally as gently, equally as raggedly, “It was never you to be sorry in the first place.” 

White hot, blinding rage rushes in one overwhelming wave over him, and he feels his heart beat hard against his ribcage.

Yanjun leans down gently, burying his face in Zhangjing’s brown locks, before growling, “I’ll kill them. I’ll fucking kill them.”

Zhangjing doesn’t say anything more. Just falls deeper into Yanjun’s chest and breathes erratically against the fabric. 

They stay like that for who knows how long. Until the sun is well up in the sky and Yanjun feels like he’ll never let go again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanna go more into character backstories. who's backstory (life before becoming an agent) of the yuehua kids do u wanna see? chengcheng? justin? wenjun? xinchun? zeren? quanzhe? zhengting? cheng will be covered for sure, but out of the rest of the yuehua, who do u wanna hear about?  
>  ty for all the everlasting support :)


	28. Zeren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah, basically zeren's had a dumb crush on yanchen ever since they were kids, but its not love yet, and yanchen doesnt know it either xd

The tension in the air rushes over Zeren’s body as soon as he steps into the common room.

It’s been a week. A week since Yanchen and him fought in the mirrored training center. A week since a rescue party was sent out to go take back their friend. And a week since he had met Chengcheng and Justin in the hospital wing and was told that Zhangjing was raped.

It’s been a mostly quiet week, interrupted only by periodic angry outbursts. Everyone in the Retributation was so silently furious and vengeful, Zeren knew that he himself would be terrified if he wasn’t feeling the same way as the rest of them. 

He had been released out of the hospital wing the day Zhangjing was brought back, after insisting that he was healed and covering up the sloppy stitches Yanchen had tried to mask their fight up with. Mubo had noticed anyway, and, after a couple of long moments of him fussing over him, Qin Fen had intervened and murmured that Zhangjing probably wanted some time alone.

That did it. Zeren was sent out and began to settle himself into Wenjun, Zhengting, and Quanzhe’s room. Even though it was a three person room, he was so used to sleeping on the same mattress as three other kids that he didn’t think much of it. It was only when Linong had approached him and asked him to room with him for the time being that he thought different. Nongnong explained that Zhangjing was going to stay in the hospital wing for the moment, and that Yanjun had glared away anyone, including him, who tried to make him leave. 

Yanchen teased him about this later on, during one of the moments that he wasn’t so somber about the whole affair of things. He had poked at Zeren and said that Nongnong’s quiet demeanor was such a contrast to his own giggly, talkative, annoying self, that he would try to throw him out in less than a day. Then he had laughed, showing off his perfect row of pearly white teeth. Perhaps less so, when Zeren drop kicked him to the ground.

They had, ever since that first sneaky time, fought more and more in the mirrored training center. Zeren knew that, even back at SM, Yanchen was known for his incredible hand to hand combat skills, perhaps only bested by Zhengting and Xukun. He had looked up to him, both literally and figuratively, and had always tried to improve himself. Whether that was to actually one day become as skilled as he was, or just to get some attention from the crazy hot man was up to Zeren’s own interpretation.

So when Yanchen began telling him that Zeren was the best combatant he had ever fought-- including himself, Xingjie, Zhengting, Ziyi, Xukun, all the other agents he looked up to-- he didn’t know how to feel. Ecstatic, of course, but something else as well. Every time Yanchen looked directly at him with his gorgeous, sparkling eyes after a fight and told him those words, he felt heat rushing to places he didn’t want it to go. Zeren was a cool kid. He didn’t blush or whine or giggle or feel bashful or shy. But Yanchen, stupid, hot, kind, tall, gorgeous, oblivious Yanchen always seemed to force him to be all of those at once. 

When he smiled, it was like Zeren’s world lit up, and he felt his heart pick up stupidly in his chest. He knew his crush was silly and uncharacteristic of him, but he always seemed to make such a damn fool of himself around Yanchen that honestly, his attraction to him should have been crystal to anyone watching. But with what had happened recently, not a single person, including himself, had the heart to really pay attention to that kind of shit.

In fact, the meeting Xukun was calling for today was precisely going to address some of those issues.

Zeren settled himself into the same couch he sat in last time, when he was still wincing at every step down the hall. He was early, so he watched as the other members of the Retributation filtered into couches and beanbags and chairs, faces as somber and tense as the grey clouds outside. Wenjun joined him in the couch soon after, icily composed as usual, and was soon followed by a, for once, quiet Chengcheng and Justin. Quanzhe came lagging behind a side by side Xinchun and Lu Dinghao, face grimacing at the awkward glances exchanged between the pair in front of them. Zhengting arrived towards the end, when most of the space in the common area was full of whispering, tense agents. He was helping Nongnong wrestle an indignant Yanjun into the room, no doubt trying to convince him that he needed to be at this meeting to discuss what happened, and that Zhangjing was safe with Mubo and Fen keeping him company. 

Then, finally, Xukun walked through the doors, face as icy and stony as he had always been that week. Ziyi and Xingjie trailed him soon after, and finally, Yanchen, awkwardly patting the back of his head.

Zeren grinned at him instinctively, then cursed himself for forgetting the mood and the situation. Yanchen seemed to have that effect on him. However, he was relieved to see that it went unnoticed, except for by Yanchen himself, who shot him a quick, knowing smile.

He felt Zhengting tense up next to him, but he doesn’t have time to ask him what’s the matter or even comfort him because Xukun suddenly begins to talk.

“Hey guys.” Xukun’s voice is even, “We have a lot to talk about, so let’s get straight to the point.”

“Is Zhangjing okay?” Zeren hears Ling Chao’s voice soar over the room.

“Yes. He’s recovering, but he’s not going to be out of the hospital wing for a while. For now, we’re going to do anything for a speedy recovery, but I know that everyone here knows that.”

Murmured assent. Zeren sees Yanjun’s tense backside, straight and unmoving, not allowing anyone to touch him.

Xukun continues on, “We have to talk about what to do next, now that Zhangjing is rescued. For starters, some bad news.” He shifts his feet, “The man who was in charge of Zhangjing’s incarceration, capture, and torture later on got away. He’s definitely heading back to the main SM bases, and by now, SM will have known that we were in charge of storming his facility.” Xukun looks up, surveying the room. “But we can’t have that, can we? We have to get revenge. So first off, we need to dispatch someone to handle Hendery Huang.”

Even before he can finish his sentence, Zeren sees Yanjun spring up from his seat. His voice is low and dangerous when he speaks, “Me. It’s going to be me. I’m going to kill him.”

Xukun nods quickly, and Zeren guesses that he knew Yanjun would insist it be himself. His next words further prove that, “Good. Go take out Hendery Huang, you know him the best and have the most right to. But you have to partner with Nongnong. What we’ve learned from this past mission is that no one should be doing solo work anymore.” Yanjun doesn’t say anything more, just sinks down into the couch and glowers with agreement. Zeren can see Nongnong carefully lay a hand on his leg, before squeezing it ever so gently.

Xukun turns his attention back on the rest of the people, “So Yanjun and Nong will be in charge of getting revenge on Hendery Huang. The rest of us are going to do some other work.” He clears his throat, “As you know, Zhangjing and Yanjun, even though they had to fight for it, were nonetheless successful on their mission. Yanjun was able to get the locations of many of the larger bases in SM, and more importantly, he got us a name.” 

The room is silent, but Zeren catches Yanchen slightly nodding from behind Xukun, and he knows that everyone is pleased and proud of this accomplishment. 

“Wu Yifan. That’s the name the poor SM official Yanjun pummeled gave us. He’s apparently the head of the drug trafficking branch of SM, and according to Xiao Gui and Jeffrey’s background checks, has ties to numerous other organizations and mafia groups. The poor kid moaned out that they had slept together once, which was the only reason why he knew him. This.” He continued on, raising his eyebrows, “gives us some very interesting info.”

Ziyi stepped in, “It would be really good for us if we could somehow manipulate this Yifan dude to spill more about SM, since he’s so powerful in it anyways. We don’t want to kill him yet, since it would raise huge red flags about us to SM, and we don’t want to be forced into the end game at the moment when most of the larger SM bases are still strong and intact. So, we need a plan to see how we’re gonna infiltrate in and find out about what Yifan does on a daily basis, and how we’re gonna manipulate him into spilling us more. Any ideas?”

Zeren sees the slight shift in the room, where the agents begin to move in their seats, thinking about possible plans. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Zhengting lower his eyelids, face furrowing in thought. 

He looks again, at Yanchen. The man is, for once, impassive, and his mouth is stretched in a thin line, framed by lines around his lips. His eyes are focused on the back of Xukun’s neck, and, as Zeren follows his line of vision, he realizes with a jolt that there’s a fading, pale green mark on the boy’s collarbone. 

He glances again at Zhengting. His friend isn’t looking anywhere at Xukun, much less at the obviously healing hickey, but Zeren still feels a jolt of unease for the two. Zhengting didn’t like to talk about his personal emotions too much, but when he did, he was terrible. Zeren was inexperienced, as with the rest of the group (except Wenjun, who’s rich parents made him date rich girl after rich girl after rich girl to build connections, but that barely counted anyways), but what they all generally agreed on was that no matter what had happened between Xukun and Zhengting back at SM, Zhengting had been hurt so badly, they were pretty set on never letting that old wound fester up again. Some things were better left in the past, and, in Zeren’s humble opinion, anything that made Zhengting cry wasn’t worth him fighting for. 

It wasn’t his business, but if it meant protecting Zhengting like he had always protected them, he would do anything.

However, the sight of the hickey also raised something else up in his mind.

“A spy.”

Twenty plus heads turn to him, and Zeren straightens up under the gazes. “We send a spy.”

Xukun shakes his head, “We already considered that, since it was the most obvious and generic path. But thing is, Yifan is attentive. He apparently knows the names of every agent in his division, and even if we make it so that our spy is just another “new agent”, he runs background checks and everything on him just to make sure.”

“No. Not any old spy. We sent something different.” His face colours at the wild thought in his head, “We send someone like a socialite. You know, like what Yanjun and Nong and Quanzhe do. We say it’s a prostitute someone else in the agency wanted to give to Yifan as a gift or something stupid like that, and we let him make Yifan spill the beans himself.”

Silence. The room seems to be considering this plan. Zeren glances around at their thoughtful faces, seeing Zhengting’s slightly surprised expression, to Justin and Cheng’s stupidly confused ones, to Yanjun and Linong’s more prepared looks. Yanchen is staring at him now, mouth slightly parted, black hair falling over his raised eyebrows.

“Not a bad plan, Zeren.” Xingjie murmurs from the front of the room, “It might actually work.”

Xukun turns to them again, “We can’t just use your plan though. We need to find someone in SM that we can convincingly say would give Yifan a gift, and who would somehow be able to agree on that. That’s going to be hard, so I’m not entirely sure…”

“Wait.” Xiao Gui suddenly calls out from his perch on a too high chair he dragged over to the back, “There is someone.”

Everyone is focused on him now. Xiao Gui ruffles his dreadlocks, before leaning forward, “This isn’t confirmed yet, but this morning, I was doing some poking around, and in one SM official’s computer files I saw that there’s going to be a convoy of prostitute shipping along the eastern border. Totally normal, but it was starred and highlighted and everything. I did some more digging, and, the dude’s computer only starred his files if a certain person was involved in the mission: Park Chanyeol.” 

Zeren recognizes the name. Park Chanyeol was one of the more long lasting, more infamous people of SM agency. While this Yifan dude was a fresh name-- probably having recently taken out the past drug branch head--, Park Chanyeol had been the head of the prostitution branch for many years. He was it when Zeren was still a budding trainee at SM, and honestly, probably was one of the inner circle. 

“So we should capture this Chanyeol guy and make him lie to Yifan about the spy we’re sending in?” Lu Dinghao says incredulously, “And we’re betting that no one in SM is going to find out we kidnapped one of their largest bosses right under their noses?”

“Ah.” Xiao Gui says slyly, “Thing is, Park Chanyeol is known for being incredibly mysterious, and at this point, he rarely actually steps into missions or meetings. He just lets a lot of the people around him take care of the work. It is said that no one even sees him most of the time, unless it’s an actual huge operation like the one in two days. If we take him, I don’t think anyone would be too suspicious if he disappeared. Besides,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows, “We’re also betting on the chance that this guy is going to do whatever we want, including lying to his colleagues and agents on where is he, once we’ve got our hands on him and give him enough… threatening.”

Ziyi whistles, “Not a bad plan then. So we send someone to try to get this Chanyeol guy, probably take care of the prostitution operation occuring then, and force Chanyeol to lie to Yifan about a nice ‘gift’ he’s going to have sent to him. Then we send our spy in for Yifan.” He looks left and right, “I can’t hear too many gaping flaws in that.”

A couple moments more of silence, to which Zeren half expects that someone will raise objection. But no one does. The room is filled with grim, dark, determined faces, and Zeren remembers, that underneath the family and cuteness and pretty faces, there are killers and assassins in each person in this room that won’t hesitate to do anything if it meant helping the Retributation or keeping someone in it safe. 

“Good.” Xukun claps his hands, “First thing’s first, who’s going to go on this mission in two days? No bodyguards, so sorry Ziyang, Ling Chao, Yue Yue, Bu Fan, but we need someone more aggressive and actually on the offense rather than defense. No snipers either, because I think this mission is going to be more physical with a kidnapping rather than shooting. I’m thinking a strong hand to hand combat duo that click together well and can keep our target alive even under pressure and risk of them escaping.”

Justin begins to raise his voice, but a quick glare from the rest of their little family silences him. Zhengting, Wenjun, and Xinchun are probably worried that he’s going to get hurt in a more fast paced and brutal mission. Quanzhe and himself are probably worried that he’ll be too obvious and brash, and will end up killing the target. Chengcheng doesn’t exactly glare, but he has a lazy look plastered on his face that suggests that he doesn’t particularly want to go on this mission.

Then, he hears the carefully composed, but still light voice of Zhou Yanchen cut through the air, “Send me. I’m the best hand to hand combatant after you and Zhengting.”

No one denies this. He might be playful and idiotic at times, but when Yanchen gets serious, he’s serious. Zeren’s not surprised when Xukun acknowledges this as well, nodding slightly immediately after Yanchen’s proposal.

However, he is surprised at Yanchen’s next words, “And for my partner, I want Zeren.”

The eyes are all on him again, and he swallows, “Me?”

Yanchen fixes his beautiful eyes on him, “Yes. I want Zeren because even though I’m generally regarded as one of the best, I think Zeren is even better than me in close range hand to hand fighting.”

Xukun asks, “Are you sure? I’m not trying to say anything, Zeren, but I need to check that you’re not going to be hurt badly if you go.”

“I’m positive. I think he’s much better than me as well. We’ve fought around these past couple of days, and honestly, at this point, he’s going easy on me.”

Zeren’s cheeks flush at the praise, but he takes time to step back and think. He does want to go on this mission, admitting to himself that this kind of mission was what he was built to do anyways. He is sure that he can take out a couple of guards, and restrain an SM official while keeping himself as well as their target alive. So he nods. 

“I think sending me wouldn’t be a bad choice as well.”

Justin chimes in then, “Yeah. Zeren is awesome at kicking ass. He destroys me everytime, and you’d be surprised what he can do when he’s literally a shorty.”

Zeren throws a water bottle at the side of his head, but nevertheless feels a rush of fondness for the blond boy.

Xukun hums again, “Good. If Yanchen says that you’re qualified, we can send you. Is your arm doing okay though?”

“Mm hmm. I’ve been fighting Yanchen for a reason.”

“Good. You and Yanchen will go to capture Park Chanyeol in two days then. Prepare yourself over the next few days, because I’m sure it’ll be a hard, intense fight.” He drops his face into a serious one again, “Now that that’s out of the way, assuming that the ambush and kidnapping are successful, we need to consider the most important part of Zeren’s plan: who is going to be our spy?”

Zeren, still a little excited that he’s been selected on a mission (with  _ Yanchen-ge  _ as well), glances instinctively at the three socialites of the Retributation: Yanjun, Linong, and Quanzhe.

Xukun continues, “Yanjun and Linong, even though they’re the best socialites and info-getters by far, are out of the question. I’m pretty sure you guys are more intent on getting the Hendery guy.” Zeren has to agree with this, and from Yanjun’s darkened, dangerously menacing face, he knows that nothing is more important to him than getting revenge for Zhangjing.

“Which leaves Quanzhe. Unfortunately, based on Yifan’s past hook-ups, like the guy Yanjun killed-- Jungwoo or something-- you aren’t really his type. He seems to like the dark, sexy kind of types, which automatically boots out Nong as well.” Ziyi falters a bit at the end, seeing Yanjun’s glowering look. Zeren can tell Yanjun thinks that they mean to send him, but he also knows that it’s going to take more than simple orders to get him to focus on this mission rather than his individual revenge mission.

The room is silent. Everyone seems to let the information sink in that there doesn’t seem to be someone to become their spy. Though Zeren knows everyone here wants to do all they can to help the mission, he also knows that all of them only want to send someone out if they have the right skills.

He’s stumped. He can’t think of who he would want to send, their best bet Yanjun having shot the possibility that he would go down. At this point, he’s even starting to think that anyone with any remote skill of manipulation should go as their spy.

But when Xukun speaks again, what he proposes makes him freeze. 

“Zhengting.” Zeren watches Xukun stare directly at Zhengting beside him, and as he swivels his eyes to the boy next to him, he sees him meet his eyes evenly and calmly.

For the first time in a long time, Zeren doesn’t see any animosity between them. He doesn’t see the contrasting fire and ice that have forced them to become like this. He doesn’t see any malice or ill or hate or pain at all. 

He sees understanding, agreement, connection. And the very thought of that understanding, that Zhengting would even consider Xukun’s idea, agree with him, makes his blood boil with rage.

“No!” He hears a voice call out even before he can move his lips, and, surprisingly, it’s Wenjun. Wenjun, suddenly standing up, fists clenched by his sides, not composed or calm at all like he usually is but panting with rage and eyes flashing warnings. “We are not going to send Zhengting to be our spy.”

Justin chimes in directly after, “Yeah, fuck you Xukun. We know you and Zhengting are having stupid ex problems right now, but are you fucking kidding me? Sending Zhengting directly into the danger line to get killed?”

His little family is all on their feet now, Zeren himself standing his ground and clenching his jaw. Even Chengcheng, who’s previously relaxed and lazy face is now impassively cold and dangerous. Even Xinchun, who’s taken a menacing step near Xukun even though he has no combat or assassin skills himself. Even Quanzhe, who’s cute features have morphed into something terrifying. 

Wenjun fills in for them again, “Zhengting wasn’t even training exclusively for socialite work. You’re just sending him in to die.” His voice is low, dangerous, and his carefully crafted features under the dim light send swooping shadows over his angry expression.

Zeren is about to cut in with something scathing like what Justin said before, but he’s cut off by Zhengting suddenly appearing in front of them, face dangerous and authoritative.

“Quiet.” He growls, and on any other day, Zeren would have meekly slunk back at his tone. But today, there’s so much anger boiling inside of him that he shouts back.

“No! Zhengting, you’re not trained for this! Xukun is sending you out to die!”

“I  _ was _ trained in this. I was the  _ ace _ at SM, remember. Xukun knows that we got training in most of the fields taught at SM.” He turns back to Xukun, who nods.

This just fills him with more rage. That Zhengting is letting himself be put in the line of danger by the same man that had broke his heart and made him cry for months on end. That he’s turning away the worry from the rest of them, and still chooses to trust Xukun, that  _ monster _ , and his dumb decisions.

“Fucking hell, Zhengting.” Chengcheng echoes their thoughts, “Fucking hell.”

Zhengting still just stares back at them levelly, dangerously, stubbornly. He doesn’t say anything, even when Chengcheng turns brashly and stomps out of the room, an equally agitated Justin on his heels. Wenjun is the blunt of Zhengting’s stare off, but in true Wenjun fashion, he’s composed again, and he looks back at him on equal terms. Quanzhe and Xinchun are glowering, and, even before he even knows it, he himself is lunging forward for Xukun’s face. 

He aims a flying side kick at the center of his chest, and his blood is boiling in his ears. Zhengting, the boy who had given up everything for their own safety and happiness, was going to be put in the direct line of danger again by this bastard, who icily stared at Zeren even as he lunged at him. He said that Zhengting had hurt him by leaving, but didn’t he know that Zhengting had been hurt too, and didn’t he know he was going to hurt him again by sending him on his undoubtedly incredibly dangerous mission.

But before he can land the kick, he feels a force barrel into his side, and, skidding on his left shoulder across the floor, he looks up to see Zhou Yanchen pinning him on his side.

“Get off!” He snarls, kneeing up. Yanchen grinds down on him, forcing his struggling body underneath him.

“No.”

“Xukun is going to kill Zhengting! He’s going to be put in fucking danger!”

“You proposed this plan, Zeren!”

“Not for fucking  _ Zhu Zhengting  _ to go!”

The rest of his family are also revolting, some livid at Zhengting for agreeing to go, some sending glowering looks in Xukun’s direction.

He does a spin kick, and succeeds in dismounting Yanchen off him, but feels himself be pulled kicking and punching and wrestling out of the room.

As Yanchen continues to force his arms down and dodge his attacks, Zeren looks over his shoulder.

Zhengting is still holding his ground, glaring back at his kids and repeating that he’s going to go on this mission. Xukun doesn’t say anything, but icily stares back at the commotion.

But in one instant, he catches the brief glance they share, and again sees so much understanding, so much agreement, so much  _ trust _ , he feels his own vision go red with anger.

Cai Xukun broke Zhengting’s heart when he let them go like that, and now, Zeren was afraid he was aiming to hurt him again.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zhengting and yuehua are the best ship ngl, sorry zhengkun but mom zhengting is da best


	29. Yanchen

Yanchen should have known that dragging Zeren out of the meeting room while he was still furious at Xukun and fighting to get away would be a bad idea.

Zeren had twisted out of his grip seconds after he had left the room, and had delivered such a solid kick at the side of his head that Yanchen saw stars. He had stumbled back, controlling himself to not fight back, and it was only until Ziyi and Xingjie came to restrain him that Zeren had stopped screaming at Xukun and trying to make a run for him. 

There had been enough commotion inside; Yanchen was just glad that Chengcheng and Justin were angry enough to storm off earlier, otherwise everything would have been deafening.

This meant for crazy high tension for the next two days before his mission.

The rest of Zhengting’s little group were furious. He could tell by the shouting and crying coming from their dorm room that night, if not the glowering looks they shot at Xukun. Eventually, however, they had emerged, late in the morning, all linked to Zhengting in some way, by his arm, by his side, by his back, by his hands. They had clung to him like bodyguards and (mainly Chengcheng and Justin) had glared at anyone who looked at him twice.

Unfortunately, this meant that Zeren was angry as well.

He didn’t know what was it with the kid, but he was just so  _ interesting _ ; he was like a book Yanchen read, put down, but kept on returning to. He liked when they fought, the boy proving himself probably even better than anyone else he had ever met. He liked it when they teased each other, the rapid giggles from Zeren’s mouth drawing out his own breathy laugh. He liked it when he talked to him, for once distracting him from his need to annoy Xukun or Xingjie into doing something stupid with him.

But he didn’t like it when Zeren was mad.

He saw Zeren again on the morning two days after Xukun’s meeting.

“Zeren.” He called out to the boy from across the dining hall, waving and smiling like usual. Zeren just blankly stared at him before returning to his cereal.

“Rejected, huh.” Xingjie said from beside him, past a mouthful of toast. Yanchen glared at him.

“Zeren!” He called again. He hated being ignored, least of all by this cute kid that popped into his life again to keep him company.

Zeren didn’t even look up this time. Just poured himself another glass of orange juice.

Xingjie chuckled again beside him, and Yanchen felt himself flush with embarrassment. He stood up abruptly, sloshing the glass of milk on his tray, and strode towards Zeren’s table. 

Wenjun looked up as he approached their table, and smiled gently at his serious face, before elbowing Zeren in the side.

Zeren just scowled at his spoon before continuing to shovel cereal into his mouth.

Yanchen looked towards an amused Zhengting, signalling for help. Zhengting grinned michievously.

“Zerennn~ Why are you avoiding poor Yanchen?” Zhengting sang, looping his arms around Zeren beside him, “Yanchen-ge is suffering so much without you!”

Zeren glowered at Zhengting.

“Ahh, don’t look at me like that. Go with Yanchen-ge. You guys have to go on that mission today as well! You should be getting ready!”

“I told you. I’m not going on any mission that is gonna help Xukun force you to become his spy.”

“For the last time, Zeren, I thought I made it clear to you guys last night! I am not being forced by Xukun. I just have to agree with him that I’m the best choice for this mission, just like how you’re the best choice to go with Yanchen for today.” His voice was dripping with honey, a tone that had to make Yanchen smile. Zhengting had always been like a mom to them, but now that he had almost like a little family of his own, that image had been reinforced. Before Zhengting left SM, he had always been fussy about their injuries, their rest, their training, but now, he even stopped him in the halls to fix his hair or hoodie strings. Yanchen didn’t know if it was annoying or endearing, but one thing was sure: Zhengting  _ had _ changed with his years with the younger boys out in the world.

“Yanchen is on Xukun’s side. He wants you to be our spy as well.” Zeren scowled, and Yanchen rolled his eyes.

“No, Yanchen is just following orders, like all agents are supposed to do. Are you gonna stop ignoring him and actually go with him now?”

“No. I’m not going on the mission.”

Zhengting leaned closer to him, “Ah, okay Zeren.” Turning to Yanchen, he moaned tragically, “Zeren is throwing a fit and won’t go with you. Poor boy thinks that he’s the only person you can go with. I guess you’ll have to tell Xukun that you need to go with Xingjie after all. Run along. Go prep for the mission Zeren won’t go with you on.”

Yanchen was about to protest, but saw the glint of mischief in Zhengting’s eyes, and agreed with a dazzling smile.

Sure enough, just as he was stepping out of the dining hall, he heard a deeply annoyed, conflicted voice ring out, “Fine! I’ll go on the mission. Just because it’s gonna happen anyways, and if I go, there might be a chance I can mess Yanchen up.”

Yanchen grinned, turning around to meet the sullen, brown haired boy pad over to him, hands stuck indignantly in his pockets.

“Ding Zeren is joining me?”

“Shut it.” He growls, striding past Yanchen. Yanchen just grins again and chases after him.

***

Later, when they’re done changing into their work clothes and are strapping the needed weapons and technology to their bodies, Zeren growls again. “I can’t believe I’m going on a mission that’s gonna lead to Zhengting being put in danger.”

Yanchen smiles and pats his shoulder, “You’re pretty stuck up on that, huh?”

“Zhengting protected us, he did everything for us, he gave up everything to keep us safe. How am I supposed to feel now that we’re throwing him into danger?”

“Zhengting is skilled, you know that. He’s had more successful missions than anyone else I’ve met.”

“Those are  _ missions _ . They’re not month long things that forces him to constantly be on alert. Regular missions are simple, just go and kill and leave. This is on another level.”

“He can do it. He’s the only one that can.”

Zeren doesn’t say anything for a moment, silently acknowledging the fact in this statement as he polishes a knife on the edge of his shirt. He knew better than to offer up Nongnong or Yanjun or Quanzhe.

“What I’m pissed about is how Xukun is willing to just throw Zhengting in without any thought or anything. Does he not think about his safety or whatever at all?”

Yanchen thinks it’s a joke, almost, before reading the seriousness in his downcast eyes. He’s speechless, gawking at Zeren. 

His mind filters through all the times after Zhengting had left. How Xukun had become a hollow shell of a person. How he pushed himself until his stitches broke open and blood gushed out from the blisters on his body. How he nearly killed himself with what Yanchen can only call heartbreak.

“What?” He says stupidly, disbelief flooding his voice.

“I get that Xukun and Zhengting are exes and all, but I can’t believe that Xukun would hate Zhengting so much he would want to  _ kill _ him basically. Like he doesn’t even care about how Zhengting had to feel after he left.”

Yanchen doesn’t know what to say, so he straps a gun into his holster. After a couple more moments of silence, all he can do is mutter out, “Doesn’t seem like anyone understands what all of us, including Xukun, had to go through after you guys left either.”

Zeren furrows his eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything.

Yanchen continues, “I mean, we weren’t exactly happy when we woke up and four of our friends just disappeared without telling us.” He looks at him pointedly, “I mean, I understood why and all, don’t call me out on that. But not telling any of us, that was so hard.”

Zeren stands waiting. Yanchen continues, a little sadness creeping into his voice, “Xukun took it the hardest. I don’t want to relive what I saw happen to him, but, if there’s anyone that cared and still cares about what Zhengting is, it’s him.” 

Zeren is motionless, taking in this bout of information. Yanchen can tell that he’s biting the inside of his cheek, a dent appearing in the side of his left face. He’s expecting something, maybe some more complaints or maybe just some more banter. But Zeren is quiet, and Yanchen lets it go.

“We should go soon. They said 1 pm right?”

“Mmm.” 

“Okay, let’s go then.”

***

The drive to the east border where the concession of trucks carrying business leaders and prostitutes is to be is quieter than usual. Both of them let go of whatever they were talking about while preparing for the mission, and immediately reverted back to their old, giggly states when they stepped out the door. Yanchen learned that Zeren hated driving, but only did it because he liked the flow of wind through his hair, and in return, he told Zeren that he liked driving but he rarely got a chance to do it because he usually left their base with Xingjie who was the designated driver in any situation.

Which led them to how they were now, Yanchen with his hands on the wheel, and Zeren leaning his head against the car window, eyes trained on the distance.

Even though they had joked and pushed around and teased in the halls, as soon as they had climbed into their jeep, Zeren had quieted down and had looked so absorbed in whatever he was thinking about, Yanchen didn’t want to, not to mention didn’t dare, disturb him.

He glanced over at him, at the black bandana secured underneath the bangs of his sharp brown hair. Though Yanchen himself had never thought headbands or bandanas were particularly attractive or useful, Zeren seemed to have a penchant for them. For good reason, admittedly: he looked very… interesting in them.

Zeren’s face was slightly turned away from him, eyes flickering left to right to watch the buildings and hills pass by. His mouth was stretched in a thin line, and this combined with his shaped and deeply coloured eyebrows, Yanchen could see why Justin and Chengcheng could be so afraid of him at times.

However, Yanchen still preferred the smiling, talkative Zeren that had deep dimples and an addictive laugh and a smooth voice. So he smirked in spite of himself and whistled. “You know, Zeren. You’ve changed a lot since I last saw you as a kid. I’m just glad that how everyone is taller than you hasn’t changed.”

It has the desired effect. Zeren snaps his head out of his trance and glares at him. “Zhou Yanchen!” He begins rolling down the window, “I’m getting out. This is a goodbye from me.”

Yanchen laughs, and is pleased to see a half smile pool by Zeren’s plush lips. “Am I wrong?”

“I’m sorry that you have one mile long legs. I drank so much milk at one point too, but I barely grew at all.”

“Even Justin and Quanzhe are taller than you now.”

“Fuck off.” But despite the harsh language, the light, rapid giggles Yanchen had gotten used to over the past weeks filters pleasantly into his ears.

“Don’t worry. Being small works really well for your fighting style.” He keeps his eyes trained on the road, but out of the corner or his eye, he can see Zeren refocus his gaze on him, bright red blooming across his golden skin. For some reason, the image of Zeren focused on him, staring at him, blushing because of what he said, fills him with a strange pleasure.

  
  


Zeren grunts, shaking his head to ward off his embarrassment, before leaning forward, “Are we almost there yet?”

“Soon.”

“How soon.”

“Ten minutes?”

“What?”

“I said ten minutes.”

“We haven’t even discussed a game plan yet!”

Yanchen shrugs, “I’m used to just going in and going for it.”

“Jesus Christ, Yanchen-ge.” Zeren shakes his head slowly, “If we’re gonna be killed later, I’m gonna be so fucking mad.”

Yanchen just grins, before relapsing into his usual banter with Zeren. Before long, he’s pulling into the side of a gas station, tires skidding unceremoniously behind the crumbling building.

“The fuck, ge. You were doing so well before that.” Zeren complains, still gripping on his armrest, “At this rate, we’ll die before the actual mission.”

“Shut up, we’re here at least.”

The sun is hot above their heads, glaring down upon the ramshackle area of the tiny town the concession was going to pass by. Yanchen could see a group of children running and kicking a ball around in the streets in front of them, all screaming and sweaty and sticky. 

“They kind of remind me of you.” Zeren deadpans beside him, following his gaze towards them. Yanchen swats his arm. 

“Let’s wait outside for them?” Zeren climbs out of the car as his answer. 

Yanchen dusts off his pants when he climbs out, and checks his watch. “It should be here any minute now.”

Zeren nods, eyes trained on the distance, “Like there?”

Yanchen follows his gaze. There’s a small yellow cloud of dust gathering on the dust, and he knows that if anything, it’s a procession of cars. “Yeah, like there.”

Zeren doesn’t wait for him. He begins running for the line of vehicles, body a beige blur with the tan working clothes he was wearing. 

“Brat.” Yanchen mutters, scowling at his sprinting backside, “We’re supposed to go for it at the same time.” He begins to run as well, almost catching up to Zeren, not because he was faster, but simply because he had longer legs.

“Remember, try not to hurt too many of the prostitutes being shipped there. We’re going for the soldiers and less important officials. And remember to keep the Chanyeol dude alive.” He pants out, the wind whipping his face.

Zeren shouts as an agreement, but there’s little time for discussion as the cars are slowing right in front of them. 

It’s exactly what Xiao Gui predicted: a scheduled stop in the middle of nowhere to supposedly exchange a business deal for human trafficking with another mafia group. The trucks have halted in their tracks, soldiers unbuckling their seatbelts, supposedly waiting for the other party to show up.

Yanchen knows that they don’t have long before the other party in the exchange will show up, so he doesn’t take long.

As a soldier steps out of the driver's seat of his truck, Yanchen leaps on him from behind, sending them both sprawling into the dirt. The man barely has time to shout before Yanchen has slashed his throat and looked up to see Zeren has broken the neck of the other in the passenger seat. Zeren catches his gaze, gives him a compulsory nod, before taking off for the next truck. 

Yanchen takes the opportunity to throw a knife at the guard stationed on the back of the truck, then slipping over once he hits the ground with a large thunk. As expected, through a crack near the top of the truck door, he can see a line of girls and boys alike, all heavily decorated in makeup and dressed in the outfit of a prostitute. 

But their not his concern. He turns and catches up with Zeren, who’s efficiently finished off the guard in the back of the next truck with a couple hard kicks in the face, and is now embroiled in a rough fight with a burlier looking guard. Both men are shouting, and Yanchen sees that some of the soldiers from other trucks have caught on to their ambush, all whipping out knives and guns and heading for them.

As Yanchen skids to a stop near the truck, he throws a blade at the back of Zeren’s opponent. He groans when it sinks into the center of his back, and is finished when Zeren stabs him again where the neck joins the shoulder. 

Through the limbs of the two soldiers he’s fighting, Yanchen can see Zeren grin at him, mouth splitting wide in a toothy smile framed by dimples. There’s blood on his face and in his eyes, and his gaze is dark, dangerous, manic. But Yanchen feels the same way, so all he can do is smile back.

It comes to him soon enough that bringing Zeren on this mission was one of the best decisions he could have made. The boy is agile, fast, effective. Perfectly balancing out his own brashness, rough movements, and heavy hits. They complement each other, he notices through the heavy, bloodthirsty haze he always gets in his head during a mission. 

It’s even more amplified when Zeren begins to help him out with some of the soldiers he’s fighting. He might be wrestling a soldier, fingers gripped against his arms and trying to hold his ground while still kicking at the man behind him, when a loud thunk from a kick or another thrown knife is enough to take out, if not weaken, one of his opponents. When Yanchen looks up to thank his accomplice, he’s always met by the same, devastating, dangerous grin that he can’t help but smile back at.

It that way, he’s not like Xingjie or any other partner he’s had before. Hell, him and Zeren are different from any other pair. 

Yanchen recalls, Xukun and Zhengting’s back to back fighting, their fluid motion and perfectly timed attacks. Ziyi and Xukun’s supportive fight, where one person was always covering up and finishing up for the other. Linong and Yanjun’s tag team duo where both fight at the same time to finish off an opponent. His own dynamic with Xingjie, where Yanchen starts the fight and Xingjie finishes with an even heavier hit.

But Zeren. He was on his own pace, playing by his own rules. He didn’t try to click with Yanchen at all, it seemed, but was always just  _ there _ , ready to take out anyone at the right time. 

Yanchen couldn’t understand how, even though they were technically fighting ‘as a team’, in sync and timing their own attacks to match the others, the play of their own techniques, their own style just  _ worked  _ with the other’s. 

He threw knives at opponents he was planning on ambushing next, and punched and kicked at those he knew would come for him soon enough. It was almost a coincidence, therefore, how these people he targeted for his own gain and own fight, were also the ones embroiled with Zeren. 

Zeren did the same, always lashing out at the soldiers that Yanchen knew he actually was planning on taking out for his own tempo. It was just a coincidence that they conveniently were the same people Yanchen was gritting his teeth fighting.

Like putting one texture next to another, one flavour mixed with a different one, Yanchen felt the balance he had with Zeren. How their own styles and fights for themselves just  _ worked _ and connected with the other. They barely even interacted, save for the manic grins they always exchanged after one had unwittingly helped the other. Yanchen just knew that lashing out at this person at this time would work for his own fight, and, even without looking to check, knew that it would click with Zeren as well.

Which is why, when they reached the head of the procession and Yanchen shot out the window of the driver's seat, he wasn’t surprised to feel a pair of hands press down hard against his own shoulder blades, boot digging flatly onto the plane of his back, and see Zeren launch himself off him through the broken window.

Yanchen is too tall, so he resorts to use the door instead. But in the moments it takes for him to yank open the door and pull out his knife, he can already hear the shouts, the thunks and crunches of Zeren bringing the fight to them.

Indeed, inside the car, he’s met with a hard lined Zeren, skin golden and dripping with sweat under the dim light, holding a man around a foot taller than him by the throat about six inches off the floor. He raises his arm for a punch, but Yanchen’s already instinctually stabbed a knife into the side of his neck, in between Zeren’s fingers, and his hand and arm is drenched by the sudden spurt of warm scarlet instead.

Yanchen doesn’t smile at him this time; there’s a man suddenly kicking him to the floor, and he twists his head to the side just in time to miss a long knife driving down on him. It sinks to the ground instead, and, ears ringing and heart racing, he raises his pelvis and swipes at the soldier pulling the knife out of the floor. His arm hits his hand, and he’s able to send the blade sprawling before a pair of hands are enclosing around his throat.

He knees up, hands twisting at the flesh of his opponent’s upper arms, trying to bruise or tear the muscles that are currently squeezing his neck so hard, he can see black spots in his vision. Yanchen is about to pull out the retractable blades hidden in his gloves, when the man above him suddenly coughs, and showers him with hot, sticky blood. Yanchen scrambles up in the commotion, seeing the knife sunken into the back of his head, and kicks the dying man away to the side. 

He smiles at Zeren then, face breaking into a dazzling look everyone says makes their hearts stops. But if anything, it’s his own that does, suddenly stopping its rhythm when he’s met with the image of Zeren pushing his hair back, teeth grazing against his bottom lip. His skin is still golden, baked, shiny with sweat. There’s blood splatters across his face and clothes, and his bandana is soaked with dark liquid and slipping off the side of his hair.

But it’s his brows, his eyes, his gaze that makes Yanchen’s breath catch in his throat. Zeren is looking back at him so intensely, he feels like he’s naked, exposed, vulnerable. His brows are low set; to anyone else, he might even be glaring at Yanchen. Somehow, however, he recognizes the emotion stirring up in Zeren’s dark eyes to not be hate or lust or jealousy or anything anyone might label it as. It’s just… a need to fight, for sweat, for fists that Yanchen already knows so well, he doesn’t need to label it anything more.

Zeren is meeting him face on, looking up at him intensely, unflinching at Yanchen’s undoubtedly flustered face. But the moment is short and sharp, because a bullet tears at him so fast, Yanchen barely has time to raise a heavier knife to his face before it’s colliding with it.

His blade snaps, only missing his head when Yanchen jerks his head back, metal and pieces of bullet scattering across the floor. He tears his eyes up, towards the direction of where it came from, to see a handsome, tense man holding a pistol with both of his hands. 

“Park Chanyeol.” And he knows he’s right when the man’s lip twitches. “You’re coming with us.”

A bang, as Chanyeol fires again, and this time, Yanchen is expecting it. He flattens himself as the bullet passes above him, and pulls out a whip from his side in the process of rolling himself up again.

Zeren is to the side as well, also having dodged one of Chanyeol’s bullets. He wipes the sweat across his brow, and his eyes flicker up to meet Yanchen’s. In their brief moment of connection, Yanchen sees fire, dust, grit. Golden flames licking up the ground around him.

But he also sees an agreement, and he doesn’t even have to think before he’s lashing his whip out and curling around Chanyeol’s leg. He jerks his arm back hard, hearing the thud and curse of Chanyeol as he hits the ground, then, even before he can look up, hears the loud thunk of Zeren’s boot against his head.

Yanchen watches as Zeren kicks one more time at Chanyeol’s head for good measure, and knows from the suddenly limp fingers against his gun trigger that he’s been knocked out.

He doesn’t waste any time. He kicks the gun out from his hands and pins his hands together behind his back, handcuffing them together. Yanchen lets out a heavy breath as he hears the click, then slowly straightens up.

Zeren is still not smiling. He’s still just as intense, just as fiery and dusty and clenched. He’s bent over slightly, focused on the movement of Yanchen’s fingers across the handcuffs, but jerks back when Yanchen locks his eyes on his face.

He’s hard and lean and bloody and sweaty, but all Yanchen can focus on is the even gaze he exchanges with him, serious and heavy and, for a moment, even connecting.

But as Yanchen breaks his face into his easy smile, and sees Zeren’s own mouth split open in a smirk, framed by dimples, all he can think himself his how

“Ding Zeren. You might just be the best mission partner I’ve ever had.”


	30. Justin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is REALLY badly written; im so sorry

“I still can’t believe you’re agreeing to do this.” Chengcheng groans out from underneath Justin’s body, “I can’t believe you convinced us this was a good idea.”

He’s mashed his face into the pillow, and his voice comes out scratchy and muffled into the fabric. Justin is perched again on his back, straddling him like a horse, as he frowns dubiously at Zhengting’s bent over form. 

“For the LAST time, Fan Chengcheng, we talked about this.” Zhengting sighs, continuing to dab at the makeup above his eyelids, “It can only be me.”

“Don’t see why Xukun himself can’t just go.” Chengcheng mutters again, and Justin can see Zhengting frown in the mirror.

“Xukun is the leader of the Retributation. He needs to stay around to keep things in order. Besides, Yifan would recognize him for sure.”

“I still hate this.” Chengcheng flips over so abruptly, Justin goes flying off to the side, smacking his head against the bunk bed.

“What the hell!?” he winces, rubbing at the back of his head, “You could have warned me to get off before you did that!”

Chengcheng ignores him, already standing close behind Zhengting, watching him as he continues to blend his eyeshadow. Justin scowls, but gets off the bunk to join them. 

They watch Zhengting in silence for a couple of seconds, flickering his brush in the creases of his eyes. He’s already dressed in the ‘sexy’ outfit of what a prostitute might wear, with scandalously ripped black jeans and a crisp white collared shirt with a neckline that reaches well in a V shape down Zhengting’s abs. 

“You’re pretty.” He comments, and even though it’s dry and meaningless, Zhengting’s eyes still crinkle at the compliment.

“Thanks.” Zhengting finally puts his brush down, admiring his looks in the mirror by turning his face left and right. There’s a dark, smokey eyeshadow blended into the creases of his eyes, and golden powder dusted generously all around his face. He looks… sexy, at least, but Justin hates that thought so much he has to shudder to let it go.

Zhengting narrows his eyes at the movement, “You just said that I’m pretty.”

“Yeah, but you look weird like this.” Justin continues to stare at Zhengting’s face, “I haven’t seen you in makeup in years, and it’s like I suddenly walked in on my mom trying to get ready to fuck.”

Zhengting kicks behind him, and, thankfully, Justin dodges it, though he falls unceremoniously into Chengcheng’s unimpressed lap.

“I also hate how you look like you’re getting ready for a date, but you’re actually gonna be sent into a death lair to be a damn spy.”

“Huang Minghao! I go on missions all the time. I didn’t hear any of you kids complain then!”

Justin pouts, settling down deeper into Chengcheng’s lap, “Yes, but you’ve never had to go on a mission that long, and in a place  _ that _ dangerous!” He feels Chengcheng’s arms wrap around him, and he clutches at them, “You’re gonna be away for weeks!”

Zhengting flops down on his bed, “It has to be done sometimes.” He turns his face towards Justin’s still pouting mouth, “I’ll be fine, Justin.”

“Wenjun didn’t think so.”

“That’s only because Wenjun doesn’t like anything that can get me hurt.”

“The rest of us don’t either!”

“But you guys should know the best how  _ safe _ I’m gonna come out of this.”

Justin bites down whatever other retort in his throat. He wants to argue that even though Zhengting was the ace at SM, that doesn’t mean he can survive nice and easy in a dangerous SM base all alone with no immediate backup and no weapons. Zhengting can kill with just a quick twist of his hands, but the fact that he’s going in with no support whatsoever, makes him fill with worry.

Zhengting took care of them. He gave up everything to keep them safe. He doesn’t have to throw that all away.

But instead, he focuses on a different question, “I don’t understand why Xukun thinks this is a good idea. Have you even talked to him to actually sort this out? Last time I checked you guys aren’t talking.”

“So aren’t you and the rest of our group with him.”

“That’s because he’s sending you to die?”

“No, he’s not. He knows my capabilities, and he knows that I’ll be okay.”

“So you did talk then.”

“Once or twice after the proposal.”

Chengcheng twists under him, and Justin feels his hot breath against the back of his neck, “The marks on Zhengting’s neck show that they’ve been doing otherwise as well, no?”

Zhengting flushes, “I don’t know what you’re implying.” He self consciously thumbs at his pulse point, where Justin now notices a fading red mark.

“What the fuck? Did you sleep with Xukun?”

“No! What the hell! Of course not!”

“Then why’s there a giant hickey on your neck!”

“It’s not a hickey! It’s just a normal bruise!”

“Under your chin?”

“Yes!” Zhengting covers his eyes gently with a hand, as to not disturb his makeup, “Stop asking,  _ god _ .” He pushes himself up again, before patting the places beside him. Like it’s a signal, Justin hops off Chengcheng’s legs and curls up into the spot. Chengcheng falls into the place on the other side of Zhengting.

He’s expecting scolding, annoying reminders, exasperation. But when Zhengting throws his arms around them and holds them close to his chest, he breathes instead.

He smells, the light, flowery smell he can only connect to Zhengting. That smells like safety and selflessness and protection. He smells home and bread and cheesecake and everything he thinks a normal mother should smell like. 

So he snuggles in closer into his chest, and knocks his head against Chengcheng’s hair. “I’m gonna miss you.”

Zhengting’s voice comes out amused from above them, “How come you guys only stop terrorizing me when I’m babying you like this?”

“Promise to stay safe.” Chengcheng mutters into the folds of Zhengting’s shirt, “I’m gonna be so mad if you come back without an arm or something.” And even though he’s dripping with dry humour, Justin knows that Chengcheng sees Zhengting as home as well, if not anything close to the mother he wished he had.

“I’m going to be fine, kids. It’s just a mission.”

Justin doesn’t say anything more, just wraps his arms around Zhengting, to remind himself of the scent of safety, if not the scent of the boy give up everything to give him a future.

  
  


***

Two hours later, Zhengting is gone. 

And Justin is perched inside of the snack closet.

It’s warm in there, and there are comforting boxes of crackers and protein bars and gummy bears and cookies along the shelves, and most importantly, a bowl of cheesy popcorn in his lap. There’s also cheese dust all over his fingers. And on his clothes. And all around his face and mouth.

Maybe part of it was because now with Zhengting gone, there wasn’t going to be anyone else to constantly egg him to eat healthier. Wenjun gave out the occasional berating, but they counted more as reminders Justin guiltily adhered to, rather than the constant nagging from Zhengting to eat more vegetables, drink more milk, eat more meat. 

Really, the boy nagged them all so much, he was surprised he didn’t find anyone else in the closet already when he intruded into it in the first place.

But at the same time, maybe it was something else.

Conveniently, the door creaked open, and, on instinct, Justin crammed his handful of popcorn into his mouth before quickly shoving the bowl behind him. 

“I wasn’t doing anything!” He looks up in alarm, before easing down, “Oh, it’s just you.”

Chengcheng grunts as he turns on the light, “Have you just been in here binge eating in the dark for the past half hour?”

“Maybe.” Justin retrieves his bowl from behind him and again begins to throw popcorn into his mouth.

“You’re gonna get so fat.” Chengcheng comments, reaching for snacks as well. He adjusts himself so that he’s also sitting cross legged, facing Justin so that their backs are pressed against opposite walls.

They chew in contented silence, smelling the cheesy aroma spread to the air.

“I never asked, but how does Xukun get the groceries for this place?”

“Beats me. Probably just gets Jeffrey or Ziyi to pick some up every once in a while.” Justin raises a hand to wipe away a speck of cheese dust near his nose, but is startled when a hand suddenly encloses around his wrist.

Chengcheng is peering curiously into his face, and Justin frowns at him, relaxing his arm in his grip. “Have you been crying?”

Justin colours, “The fuck?! No, of course not. Why would I be crying?”

“You’re speaking faster than before.”

“I wasn’t crying!”

Chengcheng grins, “It’s okay to cry, Justin. I’m the only one here that never cries.” And as much as Justin wants to bring up blackmail or past occurrences, he has to admit that it’s true: Chengcheng has probably never shed a tear in his life.

“I said I wasn’t crying!”

“Xinchun was. Quanzhe was too.”

“That’s normal.”

“Wenjun was sniffling, I heard him.”

“Again, not unexpected.”

“Zeren wiped at his eyes, I caught him.”

“That’s norma- wait. Zeren?” Chengcheng nods as he chews the Oreo he just shoved in his mouth.

“Yeah. He was being all stupidly tough. I saw Yanchen laughing at him afterwards.” Suddenly, Chengcheng is leaning forwards. “Oh my god. I haven’t really talked to you about this yet, but do you think Zeren has a crush on Yanchen?”

Justin raises his eyebrows, “I thought we agreed on Dinghao and Xinchun.”

Chengcheng waves his hand in exasperation, “We already saw them flirt with each other. It’s not even fun anymore unless we tease him.”

“Yanchen and Zeren?” Justin racks his brain. He thinks of what words he usually associates with Zeren. Scary. Short. Dark. Kick-ass. Giggly. Stupid. Fast. “It’s hard thinking of Zeren having a crush. And it’s weird because Yanchen basically watched me an Zeren evolve out of being fetuses.”

“You’re still a fetus. Ow!” Chengcheng rubs at his nose, where there’s now a cheesy mark from Justin’s palm, “Okay, but listen. Don’t you think it’s weird how he’s always with Yanchen now? Quanzhe is even complaining that Zeren doesn’t baby him enough anymore.”

Justin remembers something, “Wait. A couple days ago at breakfast, didn’t Yanchen come grab Zeren for a private talk or something?”

Chengcheng nods, “Yeah. And even though Zeren was threatening to kick everyone’s asses that day, he still went in the end.” He readjusts himself so that he’s leaning against the same wall Justin is, side pressed to his side, the bowl of popcorn balanced on their knees.

“You’re too fat. Move over.”

“It’s too cramped.”

Justin sighs, shaking his blond hair so that it’s falling over his eyes, “I mean, I’ve only seen Zeren blush a couple of times, and he’s been doing it a bit more recently.”

“We’ll see then.” Chengcheng reaches into the bowl, but Justin can hear the clink of his fingers against the plastic, and knows that it’s empty. Chengcheng throws the bowl onto the side.

Justin licks his fingers clean before snuggling into Chengcheng’s side. It’s so normal, so easy that he doesn’t even have to think before settling in. Naturally, he feels Chengcheng’s shoulder relax under his head, and dapples his own hand loosely onto his thigh.

“Ugh gross. You’re still covered in cheese dust.” Chengcheng sounds genuinely grossed out, but at the same time, his tone is so fond, so familiar, that Justin doesn’t even react.

Instead, he just curls up even closer to the boy on his side, relishing in the stability that Chengcheng always brought for him, has always made him feel solid.

A couple minutes of tranquil silence.

And when he asks, quietly, moments later, the question he’s been dreading, the one he so desperately needs an answer to at the moment, “Cheng? Is Zhengting going to be okay?” and hears a soft, “I’m sure.” emanate in the warmly lit closet, he feels rooted.

He just curls up even tighter against the lanky boy beside him, feeling the drape of Chengcheng’s arms around his torso, warm and comforting and familiar.

He almost doesn’t even hear the words that come moments later, “I’ll make sure of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dude chengstin is climbing on my list of fav ships


	31. Xukun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more zhengkun angst

Honestly, Xukun expected himself to shut down.

He expected to stay lying on the ground, lips still tingling, and feel everything wash over him in one big wave. He expects to hurt, to scream, to  _ feel _ so badly that he won’t be able to do anything until someone like Ziyi comes to find him.

Strangely, he didn’t feel anything strong at all.

He felt hollow. 

And he didn’t know if that was any better.

Hollow, like someone had spooned out what should have been Xukun and taken it away with them. Hollow, like he had been left out, bare and exposed, just from the inside. Hollow, like he didn’t know how to feel anymore. 

Hollow, like he was back to square one.

He had told Ziyi. Finally stumbling out of the training center at who knows what time, he had shuffled into their dorm and woken him up. Ziyi had blinked open immediately, like he always did, and, after reminding him to whisper as to not wake up Jeffrey, had listened in to Xukun dully explaining what had happened.

He had left out a lot of the details. How he felt like there was a fire reignited inside of him the moment Zhengting had laid, open and pliant, underneath him. How he had seen the hunger, the lust in Zhengting’s own eyes, full of want and desire and sweetness. How he had felt so, so  _ alive _ and desperate and everything at once.

Ziyi filled in what he couldn’t explain himself with gentle squeezes and light taps, not saying anything but understanding everything. He had leant forward and carefully kissed Xukun, despite his protests that it wasn’t fair to him, like he was trying to fill up whatever hollowness Xukun was feeling. Like he was trying to finish what Zhengting hadn’t.

He did finish it, in the end. Sex was easy for them by that point, them having done it so many times. Ziyi had moved to comfort Xukun, and tried so hard to complete him with himself that Xukun felt disgusted with how willing and kind Ziyi was to allow himself to use him so blatantly again.

But even though Ziyi quenched whatever it was that night, Xukun still felt like a chunk of himself was missing. Somewhere, there was a chunk missing that Zhu Zhengting had scraped out with his pliant mouth and soft skin. A chunk that he had carried off all those years ago, that Xukun had gradually patched up with Ziyi and training and determination. A chunk that he still found a way to dig out. 

And Xukun was hungry for it back.

Hungry, when he woke up the next morning, safe in Ziyi’s heavy arms. Hungry, when he went on through his day like nothing was wrong. Hungry, when going over plans with his team. Hungry, when he tried to keep everything in order. 

But if that was hunger, he was starving when he saw Zhengting again.

For Zhengting’s credit, he didn’t try to make it any more awkward or painful than it already was. He just did what he usually did: at least what Xukun had watched him do over the past weeks. He yelled at Chengcheng and Justin when they got to loud or tried to bully Quanzhe. He visited the medical wing bearing sweet bread and fruit for Yanjun and Zhangjing. He stretched and shot in the training centers. He giggled with Wenjun, Zeren, and Yanchen at lunch. 

He kept his distance, never trying to seek out Xukun or look more than a few seconds towards his general direction. 

Xukun didn’t feel angry or frustrated with any of this; it was more of a silent acknowledgement that he was there, that the reason Zhengting had to wear a turtleneck for a couple days was because of him, that he knew that Zhengting knew that there was still _ something _ .

But the starvation sometimes got unbearable.

In the few occasions they did happen to glance at each other, Xukun felt the  _ want _ , the desperate  _ need _ that suddenly would rush into the hollow part inside him. The curve of Zhengting’s eyelashes fanning across his face, the way the corners of his eyes arched up at the ends, the deep, understanding, shining pupils: they were all enough to drive him crazy with want.

Xukun wondered, in the days following, staring at walls and ceilings and table tops, what Zhengting was really like now. Had he outgrown the silly daydreams he had once whispered to him under thick comforters? Was that one scar on his waist still the only one accenting the curves of his body, or were there more to his collection now? Did he still dip his face down when he was bashful, and cover up the perfect shape of his mouth with both of his hands when he laughed too hard?

He didn’t think he wanted to know the answers to these questions before, marred by years of hurt and betrayal and anger. He was content to let himself boil away in his misery until he didn’t feel anything at all, and he could evenly look at Zhu Zhengting without feeling the familiar ache in his chest that whispered  _ Were you ever good enough? Could he have never left? _

Except that, now, there was nothing but hollowness. 

Xukun was back to square one. 

***

If there was one thing that was good about Zhengting leaving, it was that Xukun had hardened. 

Xukun was a leader now; he didn’t want any of his personal feelings tainting the dynamic of his group. Feelings were for his own moments of frustration in the gym and at the punching bag, and underneath Ziyi’s comforting presence. 

So in the days that followed, he mirrored Zhengting: he didn’t do anything different than what he usually did, cool and composed as he thought a good leader might be. 

It was exactly that when he asked if Zhengting would be willing to go as their spy for their next major mission: a professional, leaderly, cold decision that he made based on pure skill set and suitability. He didn’t break that composure even when Zhengting’s kids had revolted, Wenjun staring him down with icy eyes and a set jaw, and Zeren even lunging at him with a taekwondo kick. He didn’t even say anything when Chengcheng and Justin cornered him afterwards with furious threats and raised fists. 

The only moment he did break, however, was still because of Zhengting. It was the moment they locked eyes, seconds after Zhengting’s kids had sprang up howling of the decision, and it was more on instinct than any rational thought.

But that instinct proved true, as Xukun saw the same understanding, the same acknowledgement, the same agreement that he had always cherished with Zhengting reflected back into his eyes. And from the way Zeren’s eyes had narrowed, body still pinned underneath Yanchen’s legs, he knew that he wasn’t the only one who saw it.

That was the answer to one of the questions at least; when it came to business, they were still on the same page. 

Xukun still kept his composure in the next few days, even when he walked past the glares and hisses of Zhengting’s kids, and even when he met with Zhengting for a long discussion on their mission details. It was still just that, however: a meeting, nothing more.

He kept it together when he watched Zhengting hug his children good-bye one by one, loving them up in their own unique way. He hung onto the hollowness inside him, letting himself bathe in the lack of feeling, as he watched Zhengting pinch Quanzhe’s cheeks, bury his head into Wenjun’s chest, slap Justin across the forehead, ruffle Chengcheng’s hair, readjust Xinchun’s bangs, and tease Zeren for his height. Xukun was tougher now, and even as Zhengting gave all his love to the very group of people that he gave up Xukun for, he didn’t feel anything at all.

Still, Zhengting was Zhengting, and no matter how much he didn’t want to acknowledge it or tried to block it out, he was still the only one that could make him feel everything and something all at the same time.

The next time Zhengting threw him off, dangled the chunk of Xukun he had ripped out from him all those years ago enticingly in front of his eyes, was during their car ride to Wu Yifan’s base.

Xukun was driving, basking in the deep, electronic music Xingjie always hauled back from street markets and night fairs, eyes trying to focus on nothing but the road in front of him. Xingjie and Xiao Gui were somewhere behind them in another car, but it didn’t really matter. 

What mattered was the boy sitting in the passenger seat right beside him, so close in proximity that Xukun could hear the light puffs of his breath even over the din of the music.

Zhengting leaned carefully on one hand, gazing out the window so that the expanse of his neck was revealed, and Xukun could see the fading pink marks that he had left on him just peeking above his collar. Outside, the night was hazy and dark, with no moon or stars; the only light was that coming from their car headlights.

They didn’t say anything; there wasn’t anything to be said. Xukun drove and Zhengting looked, and it wasn’t until they were almost there that Xukun found it in himself to open his mouth.

“You know what to do, right?” his voice was cool and professional, the business aspect covering up any actual worry he might have.

Zhengting turned to him, and despite the leader image he tried to keep, Xukun still felt his stomach do a stupid flop at the sight of him focused on him.

The makeup he had put on was really doing it for him; Xukun could see how a little dark eyeshadow and gold dust could bring out the stars in his eyes, lush lashes fanning shadows across his cheeks. Zhengting had always exuded a natural sexiness around him, like he was something anyone wanted so badly but couldn’t have. The deep v neck creeping down the curves of his torso and light brown hair falling over his eyes only brought it out more. It was the reason why Xukun asked him to go on this mission in the first place, his knowledge that Zhengting could be like this.

“Yes.” Zhengting said, and it took Xukun a lot of willpower to not side eye at the movement of his glossy lips.

“Good.” A couple moments of potent silence as Xukun tried to figure out why he spoke in the first place.

“It’s why you asked me anyways, right?” Zhengting filled in the spaces again.

“You really are a good fit for this mission.” In front of them, in the middle of the wasteland, he could see the outline of a building loom through the hazy darkness. “We’re almost there anyways.” Xukun swerved to the direction of the building. Within minutes, he was pulling up on the side of a huge mansion-base complex. “Xingjie and Xiao Gui look like they’ll be here a bit later. Let’s wait around for a bit.”

Xukun unbuckled his seatbelt, and casually turned his head to his side, aiming to scope Zhengting out a bit as a leader. Instead, he felt his chest clench up painfully at Zhengting’s eyes, dark and confusing, poring into his own face.

“What?” he stammered out, feeling exposed under Zhengting’s heavy gaze.

Zhengting didn’t say anything, just continued to stare at him. Xukun suddenly noticed the tiny stud in his left ear; it didn’t help.

Zhengting ran his eyes across his face, down his chest, then up again at his hair. He was thorough, focusing on each curve of his body, it seemed, before finally up again to peer into Xukun’s eyes again.

The doe eyes were back, all sparkling, and despite the logical part of his brain screaming not to, Xukun licked his lips and murmured out, “You left.”

“I did.” Zhengting confirmed, dropping his eyelids but not his gaze. “I had to.”

“You left a couple days ago as well.”

“I did.”

“Why?” and there. It’s out. The one question that’s been torturing him all these years, despite him knowing the answer to it. It’s out in the open, raw and exposed and naked under Zhengting’s piercing eyes.

But it’s Zhengting. And he supposes it’s because Zhengting knows what he’s really asking anyways that he doesn’t answer.

Instead, he presses forward so that his face is in Xukun’s space, hands gently coming up to rest on Xukun’s arms.

He feels vulnerable, so vulnerable, that he’s holding his breath under the addicting, incredible feeling of Zhengting’s hands on his skin.

“I’m glad you asked me for this mission. I really do fit this.” Zhengting murmurs, and Xukun knows that that’s not what he means at all.

“I know you, Zhengting.” He whispers out in return, and carefully, naturally, he brings his hand up and touches the fading red mark on his neck. Zhengting doesn’t flinch or shy away, just stays there as Xukun caresses the silky skin. “It’s fading.”

“It is.” Zhengting echoes, “But Yifan will give me more.”

Xukun doesn’t know the reason for why he would tack that last part on, but suddenly, he’s filled with so much animosity, so much poison for this Yifan, that he would even lay eyes on the only thing Xukun has ever wanted, ever needed so badly, that he sees red. Considering how he was the one to propose Zhengting on this mission, this wasn’t a good feeling.

“I don’t want him to.” He thumbs Zhengting’s collarbone, letting the words seep pure and unfiltered out his mouth. He glances up and sees that Zhengting is just as enraptured, just as captivated as he is.

He feels the hands move, gliding up his chest and resting on his face. He feels them gently wrap around his cheeks. He feels Zhengting lean forward, but instead of a pressure on his mouth, he feels Zhengting lean his forehead on his. And it stuns him, how even at a time like this, Zhengting still knows him so well, still knows exactly what he needs.

They lean into each other, breaths mingling. “Stay safe?” Xukun breathes out, and he knows Zhengting is agreeing even without him saying a single word.

There is too much between them, too much hate and hurt that he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be brave enough to confront or overcome. But for the moment, nothing matters but the feeling of Zhengting’s fingers on his skin and the warm air of his breath on his mouth.

He feels the hunger, the starvation rush over him, completely filling the hollow space inside of him, and it feels so good, so sinful, that he sighs. “I’m sorry.”

He isn’t sure what he’s apologizing for; sending Zhengting on this mission? Wrenching him away from the very people he gave up everything for? Still feeling this way even in the sea of confusion and lost dreams and dull pain?

But like Zhengting, he  _ knows _ . And Xukun doesn’t even try to speak again to explain what he means.

They just stay there, pressed into each other, like they were trying to melt into each other’s bodies, and fill up whatever they had missed, whatever they had let go all those years ago. Like they were trying to memorize every curve, every scar, every touch until it was imprinted on their skin and nothing else would matter. Like the sorry Xukun had said was enough to fill the chasm between them.

They stayed there, until Xukun could see the bright lights of Xingjie’s car loom over the distance, and was reminded that they were still just there, not any other place.

So he broke away, pulling away completely from the intoxicating sensation of Zhengting. “They’re here.”

Zhengting looks over his shoulder through the window, and Xukun can see the shine of the car lights reflected in his eyes.

“Go with Xingjie.” He wishes it could have been him, the person to send Zhengting off and give him one last look of stability. It would have been stupid; his face was too well known by this point, but the want was still there, so blinding and so desperate that he couldn’t resist but look back at Zhengting.

Zhengting nods, turning and putting his hand on the car handle.

The image hurts, cuts so deep suddenly, and Xukun can see that dim garage again, where Zhengting climbed into that grey jeep without looking back with a bag of guns and bills and a trunk of children.

He doesn’t realize that he’s leaned forward again until he feels the silk of Zhengting’s skin under his mouth, gently kissing the same fading red spot he pointed out to him moments before.

Zhengting doesn’t look back, just stills for a moment longer, letting Xukun give him one more good-bye.

He doesn’t say anything else, even as he pushes open the door and steps out into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3


	32. Zhengting

Zhengting is stronger than he looks.

He pouts and whines and cries when he wants to get something, and can pull off the pure, virgin look in less than a second if it means completing a mission. He’s soft and flexible, and he makes sure that his targets are always met with an image of true beauty before their deaths.

But when he has to be strong, he can be strong.

Zhengting is manipulative; he can lie like liquid diamonds are pouring out of his mouth and twist people around his fingers with a single look.

He’s protective; if keeping Justin or Quanzhe safe required him to cut his flesh open and take a storm of bullets, he would do it without batting an eye.

He’s stubborn; he doesn’t like taking ‘no’ for an answer. His one hundred percent mission success rate is enough to prove that.

And even if being strong meant tearing himself apart, he could do it to keep himself away from Xukun.

When Zhengting first arrived at SM, the icy trainee with blond hair seemed unattainable. Too cold, too rough, too  _ good _ ; Zhengting didn’t even know what Yixing saw in him to put him in the same trainee group as him. And in a way, he stayed unattainable. Even when they kissed until stars exploded in his stomach and the feeling of Xukun on his skin was like a drug itself, he stayed closed off. Zhengting knew him like the back of his own hand-- what he’d do in any situation, how he would respond to any line, when he would lie or fight—but at the same time, he didn’t know anything. Xukun never told him anything more than what he needed to know, and pried his own emotions shut like it was second nature. So in that aspect, he never learned what Xukun was like.

Understanding sometimes isn’t enough to truly know a person.

That night he left, it was the first time he had seen true emotion, true vulnerability in Xukun’s eyes: so breathtakingly beautiful that it cracked him down the middle and stayed there.

He left to protect the boys who he loved more than any family: the result of some twisted childhood horror that he didn’t like to think about unless necessary. The star shaped scar underneath Justin’s torso was enough to make him want to protect him from anything, if not Zeren’s snarky attitude or Quanzhe’s fears and crying.

But at the same time, he wondered if it was something else as well. He wondered if not asking Xukun to come with them, or even telling him that he was going was enough to indicate something else between them. Two broken people put together aren’t perfect, even if it is a fit.

When Xukun had laughed hysterically and sobbed that there was never any words of confirmation, no “I love you” to seal the deal, Zhengting felt relief, almost, rather than grief. Relief was enough to damage him worse, he would learn eventually, and the guilt of that one emotion was what kept him awake at night and tore him away from sleep, shaking and sweating, for Wenjun’s arms.

Zhengting is strong. He held on for so long for the sake of his kids, but also for himself. He stayed strong so he wouldn’t have to understand why Xukun kept himself so locked up, and why he never made the effort to try harder.

Strength is what tore him away from the intoxicating feel of Xukun’s mouth and hips on his that night, and what made him leave without looking back even when he could feel Xukun’s lips on his neck.

Because Zhengting is a coward. Because if being strong meant never having to find out the answers to all the  _ why _ ’s that he was afraid of the answer to, he would do it even if it broke him apart.

***

Xingjie met him at a corner of the building, dressed from head to toe in black and donning sunglasses even though it was dark and hazy above.

He whistled when he saw him, “Damn, Ting. You pull the prostitute look off pretty damn well.”

“Thanks Jie-ge.” He patted his chest, “Showing a lot of skin seemed like a good plan.”

“Mmm.” Xingjie hummed, glancing at Xukun’s car behind him, “I bet it did.” He checked his watch, “We’re a bit early than planned, but let’s go anyways. There’s no reason to not, since Xiao Gui sent them a general time frame anyways.”

“It was under Chanyeol’s name right?”

“Yeah. Yanchen got him to hand over the passwords and codes to most of his technology we needed with a bit of… convincing.”

Zhengting nodded, remembering the groans emanating from the basement. “So I’m supposed to be a gift from Chanyeol to Yifan right? Just one more in the list of many?”

Xingjie nods, “Yeah, Chanyeol supplies Yifan with new toys once the old ones break, and according to our records, the last once disappeared around a month ago. Yifan should be glad to see you.”

“And you’re sure he won’t recognize me.”

“Yes. Even thought you were the ace at SM, Yifan wasn’t an official when we were trainees. You were more of a secret weapon anyways; it’s Xukun that actually shouldn’t be here. The ‘King’ had his face plastered all over SM after the ‘Ace’ left.”

Zhengting nods, swallowing dryly. “My name is Jin Yihan, nineteen years old, grew up in a brothel, was one of Chanyeol’s hand picked favourites before being transferred here to be Yifan’s personal toy.”

“Good.” Xingjie pats him on the back, “You’re just gonna stay here for maybe a month or two to report back on where Yifan’s drug shippings are going to be so that we can intercept them. And to figure out any other names or info Yifan might tell you on the way.”

“You’ll update me on my kids, right?”

“God, Zhengting. They’re basically all adults now.”

“Xingjie!”

“Yes, yes. Of course I will.”

Zhengting smiles at that, and gestures to the building in front of them, “Let’s go then.”

Xingjie presses forward, and Zhengting follows close behind.

They stop in front of the front door, a deep black thing darkened slits for windows that reminds Zhengting of a prison. Xingjie steps forward and presses a button on a panel beside, and in moments, a gruff voice is cutting through the stagnant night air.

“What business do you have here?”

Xingjie plasters a look of arrogant nonchalance on his face, before lowering his voice, “Li Changeng with a delivery for Mr Wu from Mr Park.”

“ID?”

Xingjie raises a card to the monitor. There’s a brief beeping sound before the door clicks open. Xiao Gui is always flawless with setting up fake IDs and messing with enemy technology systems.

Xingjie turns to Zhengting, and in his eyes, he sees the hard set determination, the whisper that it’s time. Zhengting straightens his shoulders like a proud, gorgeous prostitute might, and allows himself to be pushed roughly through the door.

It’s dark; the hall he’s suddenly in is illuminated by dim yellow hanging lights from the ceiling, and the deep wallpaper isn’t helping much. Immediately, two guards appear by his side, patting him up and down, from his shoulders to the curve of his ass.

Xingjie tuts as he’s patted down as well, “Hands off the merchandise. Mr Wu wouldn’t be happy if you ruined his new toy.” There’s just enough arrogance and confidence that the guards back away, saving Zhengting from trying to pass the communication device behind his ear as an earring.

“This way, Mr Li.” A tall, gruff guard with a scar across his eyebrow gestures down the hall. They follow him.

A guard pats his ass a little too roughly, and Zhengting hisses. Xingjie whips around and glares hard at the man, and Zhengting smirks to see that there’s lust still painted on his face. He looks gorgeous, he knows that.

Then, they’re ushered into a mahogany clad room, and Zhengting sucks in a breath.

Behind the table in the center of the room sits one of the most attractive men he has ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on. He’s blond, hair slicked to the side that shows both dominance as well as danger. There’s a ring of hard muscle everywhere around his body, and even though he’s sitting down, Zhengting can tell he’s tall. But at the same time, there is a tint of such ugly intention reflected in his hard black eyes that Zhengting feels a shiver of disgust run through the attractiveness.

“Ah, Mr Li, is it?” the man says, standing up, “I’ve been expecting you.”

Xingjie bows briefly, “Yes. Mr Park sent me to deliver his new gift for you.”

Zhengting bows his head, but in the milliseconds he dips his eyes downward, he can see the man leer hungrily up and down his body.

“Yes. I’ve needed one for a while. I’m glad Mr Park finally remembered me.”

“Mr Park does not forget his friends too easily.” Xingjie lays a hand professionally on Zhengting’s back, like he’s a piece of meat to be auctioned, “And this boy is one of his hand-picked favourites.”

Zhengting is still staring at the ground, but he can hear the suck of breath from the man’s mouth. “Looks about right. Please send Mr Park my regards. He is gorgeous.” There’s a purr at the end of the words that chills Zhengting down to the bone. “I’m assuming there’s no more business, correct?”

Xingjie agrees, “My job was to deliver this boy. Nothing else.”

“Then my men will escort you out. Thank you for your service.”

Xingjie brushes past Zhengting, fingers gently resting on his hip for a second as a final good bye, and then, the door closes behind them.

Zhengting is never nervous during a mission. He knows exactly what abilities he has, and knows when they end and where they begin. So feeling the rake of the man’s eyes up and down his body sends an invigorated feeling of confidence down his spine rather than tense fear.

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Jin Yihan.” He says, as he raises his head. He smirks, lifting the corner of his mouth in the way that he knows is irresistible. The man looks surprised at his confidence, but quickly readjusts into a pleased smirk.

“Well, Yihan. I’ve heard reports from Mr Park that you’re one of his hand-picked favourites. Do you have what it takes to belong to me?”

Zhengting leans to a side, surveying how the man’s eyes follow the line of his hip, “Hmm. I’m sure I’ll be worth your time, Mr…?”

“Wu Yifan. But you’ll be calling me something else very soon.”

In two strides, Yifan is in front of him, roughly pulling his face up to face him. Zhengting parts his lips just a sliver, and looks up feistily and defiantly rather than with fear. “So fucking wild.” Yifan mutters, tongue grazing across his top lip, “I’m going to have to tame you.”

“That’s what they all said. And none have.” Zhengting breathes.

It’s a lie, such a blatant lie that suddenly, he’s not there anymore. In an instant, he sees Xukun’s roughly lined body on top of his, and he feels the dominance, the aura Xukun always has around him, so heavily, that he can hear his own begging mewls.

Yifan doesn’t notice, and instead, brings his face up closer, “You won’t be saying that in a week tops.” He walks backward and sinks into his chair. “You’re the one that needs to prove himself, not me.” He looks lazy, lust painted across his features, “You’re gorgeous.”

Zhengting looks at his open lap, the way Yifan is patting his thigh.

His mewls are rushing back into his ears. He hears his own begging, his moans, as Xukun pounds into him. He fees the texture of Xukun’s fingers on his hips, his addicting growls in his ears, the hot wet mouth on the place his collarbone dips into his chest. He sees the red of Xukun’s eyes, feels the  _ want, want, want _ coursing through his own veins at the very thought of Xukun.

And with that image, he strides towards Yifan and straddles him hard. He grinds down and looks directly into Yifan’s face.

“Watch me.”

A flicker of a different face across his mind, an image of a different pair of lips in front of him: he presses his mouth to his.


	33. Linong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sort of a filler, really bad writing, enjoy anyways :)

“Zhangjing, look, it’s your favourite! Malaysian coconut rice!” Yanjun’s uncharacteristically bright voice cuts through the heavy afternoon air, and Linong winces at its volume. He watches as Yanjun brings a spoonful of white mush to Zhangjing’s mouth.

“I’m not hungry.” Zhangjing is listless, dull, eyes downcast at how his fingers are playing with the medical blankets. Linong can see from the slight quiver in Yanjun’s pupils that it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast!” Yanjun reasons, poking the spoon further. “Jeffrey made this personally for you when he heard that you haven’t been eating well.”

Zhangjing grunts, “If Jeffrey worked on it, I’ll take it.” He takes the spoon and bowl, but seeing how he does it without any real enthusiasm or even looking at them, Linong knows that he’s not eating to fill himself. 

***

Linong had known Yanjun since he was ten, when he was just a much too skinny boy with too large eyes and too wide a mouth. He had just been sold into SM then, just one more boy in a package delivered to the Agency when orphanages got too crowded. He still remembers the Yanjun from then: a hard lined, overly attractive young boy a couple years older than him. Also new like him, but with enough of a reputation already for the older trainees to whisper in hoards around him and eye him warily for his good looks and silver tongue. Nongnong wasn’t anyone special then. He was quiet and was accustomed to keep his head down: side effects from years of physical and verbal abuse from the orphanage nuns. But apparently, according to Yanjun’s details later on, he was already ‘cute’ and ‘interesting’ enough for him and all the other SM officials to take note of him. To his surprise, within the first five minutes of standing at the back of the group, he was singled out for special training in the ‘Socialite’ department with a few other boys. Why that was, he was never completely sure. He was even less sure when he saw who else was in the Socialite department- Lin Yanjun himself, the very trainee who he had heard agent after agent mutter about from time to time.

Yanjun was confusing. Nongnong was assigned to his trainee group (again, why? He had no idea), and from the very first moment of meeting him, he could tell he was one of the coldest, most closed off people he would ever meet. He glared at him coldly when Nongnong meekly introduced himself, and didn’t make any moves to return the gesture. He was the same way during physical training: just put his head down and worked on his knife throwing or martial arts, ignoring the stares and jealous whispers of the other trainees around them. But at the same time, Linong discovered, he was incredibly manipulative. Yanjun was arrogantly confident when any officials were in the room, spoiling their reviews of him with easy smirks and smooth talking. When he was busy talking everyone he needed in the room around his fingers, Nongnong wondered how this silver tongued boy could be the same one who showered for too long in the dorm and went to bed without saying a single word. 

But at the same time, Yanjun was something else altogether. For one, he was strangely perceptive. Though admittedly, he didn’t give two shits about anyone he didn’t find interesting, Nongnong saw that he did pay very close attention to those he thought might be useful. Cai Xukun, the ‘King’ of SM Agency trainees. Zhou Yanchen, the dazzling fighter that could take down more than five other trainees coming for him at the same time. Jeffrey, the quiet, buff techie who was rumoured to be designing SM’s next big hacking system. But never did he think, even for a second, that he would be on the receiving end of Yanjun’s piercing stares.

He found out one day, when he was packing up from his manipulation and lying classroom. As he was rising up from tying his shoelace, he became aware of a very tall, very imposing figure over top him. Nongnong raised his head, and came face to face with Yanjun’s flawless face.

“What.” He said bluntly, rising up even higher, “Did you need something?” He sounded rude, he knew, but he was so accustomed to not actually talking to anyone, that he wasn’t sure even what to say to make it sound normal.

“You’re nasty, did you know?” Yanjun’s gaze bored into him, and somehow, even after years of verbal lashings from harsh nuns, Nongnong still felt slightly offended.

“Excuse me?”

“I said you’re nasty.” Yanjun had the audacity to smirk, “I saw you lie to that official. You were nasty, but damn, it was so  _ real _ .”

Linong was slightly taken aback. His manipulation training of the day involved the instructor telling Nongnong how to detect for signs of lying, nervousness, or tension. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh please.” Yanjun ruffled his hair, “You told the instructor you needed more time with him because you were injured and couldn’t go to physical today. Even lied about Yixing giving you an authorization to skip. Most bullshit I’ve ever heard.”

Nongnong gaped. Yanjun wasn’t wrong; he  _ had _ been stretching the truth a little when he asked the instructor for more private time with him. But that was only because he  _ really _ needed some extra help with detecting signals, not because he was trying to lie so blatantly like that. “I wasn’t trying to lie!”

“But you did a damn good job of it. Shit, kid.” Yanjun bent down, “How old are you, even?”

“Eleven.”

“Ah, I’m a couple years older than you. You’re easily one of the best manipulators I’ve ever seen around here, and you’re so young too.” He tweaks Linong’s chin, “You’re so cute and you look so innocent as well! No would would even suspect you. You’re almost perfect for this job!”

And from then on, Linong was Yanjun’s partner. Yanjun looked out for Linong during training, and gestured for him to sit next to him in the dining hall. He dished out on tips and told him about how to align his hips, his mouth, his neck to the perfect position to show off how tempting he could be. And sometimes, when Linong broke tradition and actually said something quietly funny, his face would break into real laughter and chuckle deeply to Linong’s silently pleased expression. 

Eventually, there were rumours about him as well. The adorable, sunny faced trainee that looked like he didn’t know a thing in the world but could lift more than any other trainee and who could carry out murders like picking flowers. One half of the deadly Nong-Jun duo. 

He was still alone, for the most part. Even though his peers whispered around him and stared at him when he was training, he stuck close to Yanjun. They exchanged secrets and whispers and struggles, but generally kept to themselves.

That is, until Zhangjing came along.

Yanjun pointed him out to him one day, when they were trotting down the hall on the way to grab a late night snack. Muttered in Linong’s ear that ‘hey, there’s that techie that everyone seems to be friends with’. Linong had squinted at the short, curly haired boy, and had whispered back that ‘oh, it’s the one that always has a hoard of friends around him right?’ He had noticed Zhangjing-- how could he not, when the boy was so popular and so bubbly that people from all different departments flocked to him at lunch break and laughed at his actions?

He didn’t think, however, that Yanjun would reach out to him, the same way he had to himself, and bring him to their dorm room later that night, nervous and twitchy, to help them crack a code they had retrieved on their last mission. 

Zhangjing, he soon learned, was incredible. There was a reason why so many people seemed to like him, and Nongnong could see right away why within an hour of meeting him. Because even though he was nervous and obviously intimidated by himself and Yanjun, there was still enough familiarity, enough joy contained in his short stature that could fill him to the brim with something indescribably warm and cozy. He laughed at the smallest things, and smiled so warmly at the people around him that Nongnong, for the first time in years, felt himself smiling genuinely back.

And Yanjun felt it too, whatever that feeling You Zhangjing brought was. If he didn’t show it the first night, he showed it when he asked him again the next day to join them again. Then the next night. Then the night after then. Until Zhangjing knew the path to their dorm by memory and would come knocking even when it was too late and there wasn’t any work to be done.

The three of them, Nongnong discovered, were a perfect balance. Him and Yanjun had been fine; Yanjun didn’t always talk when he was focused, but when he did, Nongnong’s aptitude for listening was a good way for him to destress and for himself to be entertained. But there was always something missing, something sorrowful and bleak about their lives that came with the very nature of their profession. 

Zhangjing changed that. He had a sort of boyish innocence that naturally seeped into everywhere around him, always babbling merrily about his hopes and recent gossip amongst the trainees. Nongnong was marketed as the innocent one, and it was true: when compared with a lot of the other socialites, Yanjun for instance, he was the one that liked to think of the bright side. But Zhangjing was so teeming with it, anyone could have guessed he was just a regular kid rather than a high maintenance hacker and technology expert trained to break into bank accounts and set up fake IDs. Nongnong loved listening to his chatter about his hopes about the future, other possible lives, and endless conversation about the smallest things in life. 

He would lie on his bed, tracing invisible patterns in the bedsheets and on the ceiling, while Zhangjing curled up beside him, chattering about the days events. Yanjun would sit at their feet, or on a chair beside the bed, or on rare occasions, snuggle up between them, and interject once in a while with a teasing remark or cold joke. 

He supposes that it was how Zhangjing brought the best out of everyone, the reason for why he loved him being there so much. How he made him believe that there was a better day over the horizon, and that there should be a reason to celebrate when the cafeteria stocked up on overly sweet, dry cookies. How he let him accept that he wasn’t just nobody-- not just another hole to fuck to get info-- but someone unique and special in his own way.

Yanjun too. Zhangjing seemed to have the ability to bring out his smile-- not the arrogant smirk he was known for around the Agency, but the real one. The one that only broke open when his eyes curved and his mouth stretched involuntary so that just a sliver of teeth were visible. The one with deep pooling dimples around his lips that stayed rather than flicker away immediately. Yanjun rarely ever showed his real smile, but Zhangjing somehow made it stick around more. 

And if Nongnong saw Yanjun allow his eyes to linger a little too long on Zhangjing’s bright smile, or listen a little too deeply into his nightly rambles of what his better life would look like, he didn’t comment.

***

It’s been a little over a week. A week since they rescued Zhangjing from that closed off room. A week since he woke up and saw Zhangjing buried in his best friend’s chest, and Yanjun weeping onto Zhangjing’s head. 

A sight like that was painful, so painful. It made Nongnong’s chest twist hard on itself and scrape so dully against his ribcage that each beat of his heart reminded him of the fluids between Zhangjing’s legs, and the listless way his head lolled back onto his naked shoulder.

It hurt even more, when hours later, he finally peeled Yanjun away. Zhangjing had to get another round of healing lotion, and Yanjun needed to report to Xukun on the details of their mission. Linong tore him away from the boy, and had dragged him to try to get him to eat something, explaining that Zhangjing was safe for the time being. But Yanjun had wept more, on the curve of Linong’s neck, and muttered to him when they were far away enough, that Zhangjing had told him that  _ it wasn’t just one person _ .

God. 

Linong threw up. 

Stopped in the hall and puked all over the corridor wall. 

Considering that he was the one having sex on a daily basis just to crack information, and he was the one that had actually heard the crack of a skull and felt blood gushing over his fingers, that was saying something. Linong was used to the sex now, all different kinds, all the different twisted fantasies and kinks of crooked higher ups and senior agents. But the thought that Zhangjing was handcuffed in that room, and was so roughly used by man after man after man for  _ two days _ , it was so horrifying that he couldn’t help it. 

It was sort of an unspoken agreement that they would all protect Zhangjing. Shield his innocent eyes away from the ugliest parts of the world. Zhangjing wasn’t in any way naive or idealized; he had stolen the wealth from too many men and broken into too many high maintenance technology to know how the world worked. He just had such an overwhelming way of looking at things the best way, and had so much hope and dreams contained in his little body that both him and Yanjun cherished so badly. He was like their flame of hope, their wish of a better future, and when their hope was threatened they would do anything to protect it. Yanjun intimidated anyone with his icy glare whenever anyone looked differently at Zhangjing, and Linong even broke the arm of one man who grabbed at him late at night. 

Even though, arguably, him and Yanjun did the dirtiest work out of everyone in the entire Retributation, sleeping with so many and murdering them when they were at their weakest and most exposed, the idea that Zhangjing even come near what they did every day was a horror he didn’t want to ever see happen. Sex was something so translucent for him at that point, just another step to getting information. He was used to it by now, it was something he just did. But Zhangjing, the boy who giggled about a handsome prince and lulled him to sleep each night: his hopes could never come near what they did.

So the idea that  _ this _ was the way Zhangjing would be forced into the ugly world the rest of them lived in, the way their hope, the source of their happiness every day would be shattered with the very filthy action Yanjun and Linong did every day as a duty, it filled him with so much nausea, he couldn’t keep anything down.

Which brought him back to right now, where Zhangjing was mindlessly spooning rice into his stubborn mouth.

He hadn’t been eating or sleeping well, not able to keep anything down unless Yanjun coaxed it in and not falling asleep until Linong tired him out enough and Yanjun was there for him to clutch onto.

“Zhangjing,” Linong started delicately, “If you don’t want to eat it right now, I could put it away and get something else for later.”

Zhangjing continued to eat, shovelling rice robotically into his mouth, “No, no. It’ll hurt Jeffrey’s feelings, and anyways, it tastes good.”

Linong glanced at Yanjun. He wasn’t smiling anymore, and instead, his mouth was set in a thin line.

“Zhangjing, you don’t have to eat. Jeffrey won’t get mad.” Yanjun gently reached for the bowl, “I’m glad you’re eating, but you don’t need to force it onto yourself.”

“No, no, no. I said it was okay!” Zhangjing snapped, jerking the spoon back. Some of the rice fell off the spoon and onto the blanket, but he didn’t seem to notice, “You guys are worried about my eating, then now you don’t want me to eat!”

Linong winced. Zhangjing had always been easy to anger, but never to the extent that he would lash out like this.

“We want you to be healthy, but forcing yourself to eat isn’t a good plan either.” Linong touched Zhangjing’s wrist, aiming to take the spoon away.

Bad idea. Zhangjing jerked so hard, the bowl on his lap rolled off and clattered loudly to the floor. He yanked his arm back, sending rice flying onto the bed, and involuntarily curled on himself. Within seconds, Yanjun was there, enveloping his tense body in his arms, burying his head in his chest.

Yanjun sent a short glare to Linong, before beginning to pat Zhangjing on the back and murmur in his hair.

Linong tried not to be upset; it was understandable that Zhangjing didn’t want to be touched, and it was his fault that he had moved to touch him without letting him know. It still stung though, to see that somehow, Yanjun was the only one that could do it both without repercussion as well as to calm him down. He understood that as well, however; Zhangjing had always trusted Yanjun the most out of everyone, and they had a strange bond even Linong didn’t think he had with them.

“I- I’m sorry.” Zhangjing muttered into the folds of Yanjun’s hoodie, “God, I’m sorry Nongnong. I-I just—”

“It’s fine.” Linong cut in. “It’s my fault for moving without letting you know.” He moved closer so that he was crouching at Zhangjing’s head level, but not touching him.

“God, it’s all my fault. I’m so sorry. I trust you, it’s not you, it’s me. God, god, god.”

“Shhh, shhhh—” Yanjun patted him gently on the back, murmuring into his oily brown hair, “Nongnong isn’t mad. He just got a little freaked out. Don’t worry about it, Xiao You.”

Zhangjing shook, “God, Yanjun. I’m sorry. There was just- there was one who- god.”

Linong felt his blood run cold. Yanjun frowned and muttered out, “Who what?”

Zhangjing tensed up hard in Yanjun’s arms, but still continued on, “The first one. He grabbed me by the wrists. Like our target B, that guy.”

Nongnong could see Yanjun’s eyes harden. Zhangjing kept muttering into his chest, “He didn’t say anything the first time, but then, he kept coming back. It wasn’t just him too, he kept bringing more people. He kept talking about relocating to base G or something. God. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Yanjun pulled him closer into himself, “It’s okay, Zhangjing. I’m glad you told me. Just listen to my heartbeat and breath, okay?”

Linong let out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Yanjun was looking down at Zhangjing with damp eyes, and he himself hurt so badly inside he didn’t know what to do. Zhangjing kept panting in Yanjun’s chest. The bowl of overturned rice was sticking to the ground, the spoon thrown haphazardly on the floor somewhere.

Nongnong stood up. Though he still felt a tiny, guilty sting of upset, he knew that what Zhangjing needed right now was Yanjun, not him. He began to back out the room, feet velvet so that he wouldn’t have to disturb them.

And if he saw Yanjun bend down and gently press his mouth against the curls of Zhangjing’s hair, he didn’t say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you couldn't tell, nong-jun are bffs, but they're all super close with zhangjing
> 
> school is starting, so i might not be able to update as frequently. once a week might be good for me, but ill try my hardest because i love this story and i like writing it :3


	34. Ziyi

Ziyi stared at the target on the other side of the room, not flinching as he raised the gun to his shoulder level, and firing evenly at the center. The bullet streaked across the room in a flash of light, and when the ringing died down, he could see a tiny dark hole slightly to the left of where he was aiming.

“Not bad.” A voice commented from slightly behind him. Ziyi turned to it, smiling at Jeffrey carefully peeling an egg into his lap.

“Not perfect either.” He said dryly, “Chengcheng could do better.”

“Chengcheng is made for shooting.” Jeffrey pulled the last bit of shell off the egg, “I’ve never seen him  _ not _ hit the target.” He crossed his legs, biting nonchalantly into his snack. Ziyi smiled at the truth of his words.

Jeffrey had invited him to shoot with him for a while, even though Ziyi knew Jeffrey couldn’t manage a gun for his life and had better work to be doing. He had dropped in on him earlier in the day, bearing a plate of peeled and sliced apples, and upon seeing Ziyi run his fingers in stress through his hair, set it down on the table and pulled him to the training center. 

“Do you feel a bit better now?” He inquired, chewing his egg and raising an eyebrow, “There’s been a lot of stuff happening recently.”

Ziyi sighed. 

It had been around a month since they delivered Zhengting off as a personal prostitute for Wu Yifan, and for the most part, the mission had been incredibly successful. Zhengting called in for a couple minutes every day, always with a report of something that he had overheard or that he had coaxed Yifan into telling him. Even if it did turn out to be just gossip or fake info, that alone was enough to get a better picture of the current standings of different SM officials. It was lucky, as well, that Zhengting had such a good memory: he relayed IP codes, passwords, account details, names, locations back with unwavering precision, and more often than not, did they turn out to be exact enough for them to pinpoint their next attack. 

They had been crazy busy; every time Zhengting gave them a location, they sent out a new party to intercept it. Usually, it was drug shippings or dealings- Yifan was one of the heads of the SM drug branch- but sometimes, it was prostitution or other assassinations. Their teams were quick and efficient, and with the exchanges usually being done discreetly, the defenses were usually lackluster at best. They had probably destroyed millions of dollars of goods at this point, and had rallied up an entire base of new code names, locations, and keycodes. 

One of Yanchen, Ziyi, Xingjie, or Xukun would always be perched in front of their communications monitor, listening in to Zhengting’s status and reports. They tried to keep it limited to only them four, to make things easier and to not complicate any information they got, but it was hard trying to keep Zhengting’s kids out of the room. Yanchen had to wrestle Zeren out of the room once when the boy accidentally heard Zhengting’s status as in danger rather than safe, Xingjie caught Quanzhe and Xinchun linking up an extra listening device to the monitor, and once, Ziyi had even caught Chengcheng and Justin trying to crawl into the air pipe above the room. Wenjun had been the only calm one through everything, but even he dropped by his room every couple of days to ask if they could speak one on one with Zhengting.

Add on Yanjun and Linong’s frantic mission to find Hendery Huang, all the different hacking and manipulating Xiao Gui and Jeffrey had to do, and managing everyone else’s missions- Ziyi could say for certain by now that he was exhausted

“I’m still pretty tired.” He admitted, sitting down beside Jeffrey, “I had a heart attack yesterday because Yanchen came back yesterday covered in blood. I thought someone had stabbed him until Zeren told me that it was someone else’s blood.”

“I bet Qin Fen and Mubo are exhausted.” Jeffrey mused, “Thank god Wenjun can also help with med, otherwise all the injuries would have been too much to deal with.”

Ziyi nodded, thinking about Mubo’s dark eyebags and Fen’s sallow face. Even Wenjun’s handsome face had gained a line of fatigue, “We’re sending out new missions every day, so I think everyone’s tired at this point.” He tapped Jeffrey’s leg. “What about you? You’re hacking and filing data like crazy every day now.” With Zhangjing recovering, Xiao Gui and Jeffrey had had to bear the entire weight of the technology and hacking they needed. Zhangjing had insisted on helping at first, but Ziyi had noticed how he couldn’t even bear the slightest touch without shaking, and waved it down immediately. Thank god again that Zhengting’s group joined them: Xinchun was an excellent techie in his own right, and helped out a lot when things got too much.

“I’m alright, I guess. I have my eggs to keep me going.” He popped the last piece of his egg into his mouth, “I think our food is suffering the most.”

Ziyi laughed, “Yeah, with you, our primary cook too busy now, all we’ve had were boxed meals or whatever other mush the rest of us can make. I’m thinking of banning access to the kitchen, though- there have been too many messes. Xinchun, Dinghao, Quanzhe, and Chaoze almost burned it down when they were making pasta, and yesterday I walked in on Chengcheng and Justin throwing eggs at each other.” He laughed again at the memory, at Chengcheng and Justin’s indignant faces and the egg dripping down their hair.

Jeffrey smiled at him, “I’m glad you’re a bit less stressed though. I feel like you needed a good laugh.” He stood up and brushed the dust off his pants, “I barely ever see you smile, and it’s nice seeing you relax and have some me time once in a while. You’re too nice all the time, y’know.” 

“Bro.” Ziyi echoed gently. He felt oddly comfortable. He was usually never the one talking, always the one listening. But to be able to relay everything to someone once in a while felt pretty refreshing.

Jeffrey glanced towards the door, “Oh. There’s Xukun. I’ll get going. I have to finish some stuff with Xinchun and I bet Kun has stuff to discuss with you.” He ruffled his fluffy hair and started for the door. Ziyi saw him dip his head to Xukun in greeting, before pulling out his glasses and setting them on his face as he rounded the corner.

Xukun walked towards him, rubbing the blond hair away from his eyes. Surprisingly, he had been doing okay for the past month. Quieter, yes. More apprehensive, definitely. But he didn’t lash out or push himself like crazy like Ziyi had expected. He moreso just tightened up a little, and stressed out over more details with Ziyi. They hadn’t had sex ever since that night Xukun woke him up to tell him about his making out with Zhengting again, and Ziyi didn’t push it. Xukun came back from sending Zhengting off with an almost placid expression, and worked hard to make sure the Retributation was destroying SM the best they could. He hadn’t really talked to Ziyi about any of his personal feeling recently either, and Ziyi suspected that the boy really just needed to figure them out by himself first. Though at first Ziyi was apprehensive of Xukun talking to Zhengting again, remembering how much his best friend had turned inwards after Zhengting leaving, it was surprising seeing him talk to evenly and smoothly with him during communications or reports. It was like they were starting back on a mutually respecting, professional level. And that, Ziyi could take.

“You’ve been shooting.” He commented, as he settled in beside him.

“Yeah. Jeffrey told me to come destress before we have to send Ruibin and Chaoze on the next mission. It was at intersection F, right?”

“Intersection F.” Xukun confirmed, picking up his own pistol, “That’s what Zhengting told us at least.”

“Zhengting’s been really good so far. Sending him was a good choice.”

Xukun smiled dryly, “I knew he could take it. The only downside has been to fight off his kids.” Ziyi had to agree: though the six of them were pretty different, it was easy to tell that they had been brought up by Zhengting. All of them were stubborn, persistent, and fiercely protective of each other.

“You’ve been doing good too.” Ziyi said cautiously, setting a hand on Xukun’s thigh. His voice was careful, and even without directly saying it, he knew Xukun knew what he meant.

“Yeah. I don’t know why, but I feel like we’re kind of… accepting it better? I’m not sure. It’s easy to talk to him when we’re both professional and we actually need to get things done.”

“You’re doing good. I can tell.” Xukun’s eyes don’t waver from his inspection of the gun in his hands, but he can tell he’s thanking him with the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Xukun raised his head and shot at the target. As expected, his shot was a bit closer to the center than Ziyi’s. “You’ve been spending more time with Jeffrey.” He commented.

“Jeffrey? Of course I have. He has to do so much tech stuff now, it’s a miracle he hasn’t collapsed.”

“I meant outside of work. You’re almost always with him these days.”

Ziyi opened his mouth in surprise, “What?”

“Like you were just ‘destressing’ with him. Yesterday you guys ate lunch together, and the day before you guys lifted weights after work.”

Ziyi blinked, “And?”

Xukun shrugged, realigning his arm for another shot. As he pressed the trigger, he commented, “Just, to anyone, it sort of looks like you like him.”

Ziyi dropped his own gun.

“What? Just giving a possibility. You don’t even spend that much of your little free time with me. And now you’re actually making time to hang out with him.”

“We’re just bros.” He furrowed his eyebrows.  _ Where did this idea even come from? _

“I know, I know. I’m just saying, everyone thinks you should relax a little. You’re one of the best agents here, and you’re so nice, bro. You don’t need to always be looking out for me or the rest of the Retributation.” He carefully looked at Ziyi’s eyes, “You don’t always need to be holding out for me.”

Ziyi didn’t react. “There’s nothing. Don’t worry.”

“Think about it, okay? I’m okay now, really.” Xukun patted his arm.

Ziyi’s head swam.

Jeffrey? His bro? He liked Jeffrey? Did it really look like that? He just liked his company, how he let him relax around him and destress and talk rather than always listen. He liked how he ate a lot of eggs, and the quiet moments they shared, and how he still was competitive enough to outlift him. But  _ like _ Jeffrey? He had never thought of that before.

Admittedly, Xukun was right. He hadn’t thought of anything close to romance before. Xukun had been his first and only, though before he had seen enough socialite training to know relationship dynamics and all the physicalities. Besides, with Xukun it was just physical. They fucked so that Ziyi could help Xukun or so both of them could destress. There weren’t any emotions other than trust and friendship between them. But now that he thought about it, it was partially true that he had been holding himself up more for Xukun. He tried to keep himself open and available so that he could always be there for him. Because he loved him like a brother, and knew Xukun so well that he couldn’t bear to see him hurt. 

_ Like  _ Jeffrey? What was that?

But before he could finish thinking it through, a distinct beeping rang out through the speaker mounted on the wall. 

Ziyi exchanged a hurried look at Xukun, seeing the colour suddenly drain out of his friend’s face. It was a sound he hadn’t heard in a long time, ever since Yanjun came scrambling back to report that Zhangjing was missing. It was a sound he didn’t expect to hear. 

The beeping that signified someone was in serious danger. 

There wasn’t anyone else outside of the Retributation that day except for one person.

Even before he finished piecing his thoughts together, Xukun was already racing for the door. Ziyi watched as he hurried after him, seeing the red tint across his cheeks and the sudden tension in his arms. The look he had when only one person in the entire world was in danger.

Something had happened to Zhengting.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ziyiiiiiiii
> 
> lu dinghao finally left banana ent :o


	35. Zhengting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beware: not a well written chapter lmao

Zhengting knew how to do his job.

As he reached for the wine glasses above him, stacked carefully in a row on a high shelf, he accentuated the line of his lips, bending so that the glossy silk of his slacks slid over his thighs. He turned with a slight smile tugging coyly at the corner of his mouth, and smirked openly when he saw the man with dark eyes and a cruel mouth leer across his body. 

Zhengting watched as Yifan’s eyes darted across the expanse of his torso, his abs, his legs, before focusing again on his face. He raised an eyebrow.

“See something you like?”

***

The years following his leaving SM were interlaced with small missions. Zhengting still had to make money after the initial funds ran out, and for the first year or so, he couldn’t bear to send Zeren or Justin or Quanzhe out on anything remotely dangerous. He picked up odd jobs and was hired to take out the occasional target, working as a mercenary with quick, one day affairs and being rewarded with bundles of cash. When his kids revolted and began going on their own jobs, Zhengting took an even further step back from the intense agent work he was used to before, going on even quicker, smaller, one-time missions. He didn’t hate it; he liked staying home with his kids, playing around with whichever one of his agent children who decided to stay home or just chatting and working with Wenjun or Xinchun. 

But it made coming back to an actual operation like the one he was part of right now all the more exhilarating.

Within the first week of the actual mission, after Xingjie had convincingly passed him off as a gift from Chanyeol to Yifan, Zhengting had quickly learned to remember the cutthroat, dangerous, toxic air that came with long missions. 

The first reminder came on that first day, when Yifan fucked him harshly and without preparation into his desk. Because even as he groaned at the pain of being fucked without any preparation or any gentleness, he still remembered that he had to make his winces of pain sound like whines, and groans sound like moans. 

After that, everything was easier to readjust to.

Zhengting quickly learned that Yifan, though one of the most gorgeous people he had ever met, was at the same time, one of the most ugly. He was powerful and insurmountably wealthy, as he made a point of clarifying it again and again to Zhengting. He toured Zhengting around his mansion like he was a pet, and snarkily showed him transactions valued in the millions as a way to flaunt his wealth. All the better for his mission, as it made getting access to possible veins of information much more simple. Downside came with the mask he had to put on every day, pretending he was enamoured with Yifan’s cruel persona and begging for his dick at every opportunity.

Yifan was rough, brutally rough. Though it became clear to Zhengting that from the very start, Yifan was enraptured by his visuals and feisty personality, and was adamant that Zhengting belong to him and only him, he apparently still thought it was justifiable for him to damage Zhengting however he wanted. He loved leaving bruises on his body, high up and swollen, so that everyone could see them and know that Zhengting was  _ his  _ toy.

The sex disgusted him even more. Though he played the angle of the needy prostitute well, the actual deed was disgusting to him. Yifan was a man of ego, and played with Zhengting’s body like it was nothing more than a piece of meat. He pressed him too hard, and didn’t stop until he felt Zhengting’s skin dip into bruises underneath his fingers. He forced himself into Zhengting’s holes, not caring if he clenched up with pain or gagged and gasped for air. He came too roughly and too hard and never waited to see if Zhengting felt as good as he did. Yifan even admitted it himself, cooing after a session one day, over Zhengting’s exhausted backside, that he liked Zhengting the most out of all his previous toys simply because he didn’t  _ break _ .

He was forceful as well; he liked to have Zhengting always with him, no matter if they were having sex or if he was just there to be his pretty eye candy. Zhengting didn’t particularly mind this: it made it even easier to sneak glances at any information lying around, and made distracting Yifan into thinking that he truly did adore him much easier. Really, with how well the mission was going and how much information he had leaked back, this seemed like the most ideal, easiest mission.

But at the same time, Zhengting knew why it wasn’t.

Apart from his innate ugliness and wealth and power, Yifan was  _ smart _ . Astute in the way he looked at things, and always questioning the motives of people around him. There was a reason why he was one of the newest heads of the SM drug branch, and a reason for why Zhengting never found out anything more about him other than that. It became a challenge for him, to crack him. To make Yifan trust him even slightly to continue showing him his information and work with his coyness and pretending to be just another lusty, stupid prostitute. 

Zhengting giggled at jewels and gifts Yifan showered on him, cooed at Yifan’s body, begged for him early in the morning, and bit back flirtatiously at every opportunity. He made sure to play to Yifan’s desires, seductiveness rolling off him and buttering his ego up shamelessly with long compliments and sparkling eyes. He hid his disgust of him, the fact that he was using him just to get information, under a thick mask, just like how he knew Yifan was doing the same to hide his own sadistic, twisted ownership of him.

Yifan still didn’t tell him anything about himself, a tiny trait that worried him. It was like he still didn’t trust Zhengting, still looked at him with a seed of doubt, still thought there was more to Zhengting than just the sex and the shallowly pretty face. But if what he was doing was enough to get the info he needed, that was enough.

He knew the mission itself was going incredible. Xukun always reported to him how many millions they had intercepted or how many new names they had collected from his data. If that wasn’t enough, Yifan’s increasing aggression at the Retributation’s ceaseless attacks on his convoys translated to even rougher sex was. After each session, when Yifan lay sleeping beside him and Zhengting’s body still wracked with numbing pain, Zhengting would slip away to the bathroom and clean himself up, before quickly calling back to the Retributation and reporting all the info he had attained that day.

The mission was doing good, and Zhengting wasn’t thinking about anything else at all.

Nothing, not even whatever he was feeling about Xukun.

He didn’t think about him, not the way they had held each other in the car that last day, not the way he had so needily plastered himself back into Xukun’s mouth. Not the way Xukun had breathed out an ‘i’m sorry’ Zhengting knew he didn’t understand or mean, not the way he had kissed the fading red mark he had left days before on his neck. 

He didn’t think about how whenever he had to have sex with Yifan, a very different image flashed across his mind, and how memories he had tried to bury deep inside him years earlier crawled out. He didnt think about the coolness, the composed professionality in Xukun’s voice when they called each day for the day’s reports.

He didn’t think about it, but it stung so  _ bad _ .

To hear Xukun’s voice, so focused at him again, but so distant at the same time, was sore. He had thought that the coldness of the first couple of weeks after their reconnection were the worst, but somehow, the hollowness they had now was even worse.

Maybe it was the knowledge that for some reason, Xukun still wanted him. Still cared about him and understood him even though he hated him and never forgave him. Maybe it was how Zhengting himself was such a fucking coward, that he never wanted to find out why Xukun never opened himself up to him in the first place, and now, after everything that had happened, he didn’t think it was a good time to ask anymore. Maybe it was because Xukun was so tantalizing, so tempting, so close to him again but at the same time, farther away than he had ever been. Maybe it was just fucking Xukun.

It didn’t matter. There were more important things he had to take care of instead of the stretched feeling in his chest every time he heard Xukun whisper into his earpiece. 

***

“Oh baby, Yihan, you’re always something I like.” Yifan smirked as he pulled Zhengting into his lap, biting the lobe of his ear. 

“Mmmm.” He let himself moan out, as Yifan kissed the back of his neck, “Fuck.” His back was pressed against Yifan’s torso, and his ass was nestled snugly in Yifan’s crotch. 

“Let me take these.” Yifan grabbed the glasses out of his hands and set them to a side, “Let daddy take you first.”

He bit hard on Zhengting’s throat, slightly above the shoulder. And though Zhengting’s felt his stomach curdle on itself, he closed his eyes. If he thought hard enough, the hot wet mouth against his neck melted away to be belonging to someone else. He moaned.

Yifan reached down, palming roughly against his crotch. He bit Zhengting’s ear again, licking over the bruises he had left before. “You’re mine.”

Zhengting whimpered at the touch, allowing his body to react in the way it should.

“You’re so hot.” He continued to husk, cold voice creeping in Zhengting’s ears. It would be sexy if Zhengting didn’t hear him use the same voice when he ordered the slaughter of an entire drug base he wasn’t pleased with. How were Yanjun and Linong able to put up with years of sleeping with men like that? Men who played with human lives like putty and had such an innate cruelty and ugliness inside them that reeked out of them. Zhengting wasn’t any better, with the way he killed, but nonetheless, he moans again, loudly, in the way he knows Yifan likes.

Yifan continued to palm his crotch. Zhengting whined and ground his ass into Yifan’s pants, feeling the hardness against the curve of his ass. If he focused hard enough, he could feel himself melt away, groaning out his pleasure, sinking himself into the thoughts of a different person’s fingers on his skin.

“Fuck, so needy. Are you like this with the rest of the Retributation?” 

Zhengting froze. Yifan husked into his ears again, “Well, are you?”

He didn’t wait. He elbowed Yifan hard in the side and lunged out of his lap, aiming for the door. 

But when he felt the force closing around one of his legs, Zhengting raised a hand to behind his ear instead.

With a hard pinch, he crushed the communications device implanted in his skin, the protocol of what to do during situations like now. Less than a second later, he’s smashing to the ground, Yifan’s heavy body upon him.

“What, you didn’t think I would ever catch on, Zhu Zhengting, ex-Ace of SM Agency?”

Zhengting snarled, kicking his leg up to unseat Yifan from himself. Yifan just ground down harder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Yifan sneered, his handsome features twisting uglily above his face, “Don’t play stupid. I knew there had to be a reason for why we’ve been losing profits. Don’t give me that Jin Yihan bullshit.”

“I’m a prostitute. I was one of Chanyeol’s hand-picked favourites-” 

“Bullshit. I was wondering why we were losing so much, why the Retributation was intercepting every single one of our major transactions. You knew that, you fucking hung around me when I was stressed about that, you little slut.” Yifan bent down, one hand roughly grasping Zhengting’s face, “Turns out, the answer was right here.”

Zhengting struggled hard, twisting his face to try to free himself. But Yifan ground his weight down, and he couldn’t move. “So I scratch my head, and I think: maybe we have a little spy somewhere. None of my agents; they wouldn’t be able to get anything out of here without me knowing.” He leered, showing a row of perfectly white teeth, “And lo and behold. I run a little background check on Jin Yihan, and it’s incredible, since his face is almost a perfect copy of the Ace of SM Agency who ran away five years ago! Isn’t that right, Zhu Zhengting?”

When he tilts his head even closer, smiling eerily at Zhengting’s snarling face, he sees his chance. Zhengting spits a full mouthful of saliva into his face, and in the brief millisecond of him jerking back, he knees up and catches him in the crotch. Yifan jerks back even harder in pain, and Zhengting springs out from underneath him. 

He aims a hard kick at the side of Yifan’s face, and hears a crack as it collides with the side of it. As Yifan stumbles back in pain, he lunges for the door again. 

But as he’s wrenching open the door, he feels a sudden stabbing pain at the side of his waist. Zhengting grits his teeth and tries to take a step forward, but instead, his leg gives out from underneath him, and he falls awkwardly to the floor. 

Within seconds again, Yifan is above him. “You fucking bitch. Had to make me get my dart gun, did you?” He kicks him hard in the ribs, and Zhengting groans, folding onto himself. His head is spinning, and he wants to bite back with a retort. But the words falls apart in his throat, and his vision is swimming so badly, all he can focus on through the haze is a bright silver needle protruding from his right side. Yifan kicks him again before bending down. Zhengting can’t focus on his face anymore; his head is pounding so bad and the entire world seems to be collapsing on top of itself in front of him, mixing into a vortex of black and purple and gold and white.

His voice is rough and heavy in his ear, “And now, I just need to figure out what to do with you. Maybe the Retributation will give me something for you back? Maybe I should just ship you back to SM? Oh no, even better, maybe I should…”

But before he can finish, Zhengting blacks out completely.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o_o


	36. Justin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAN chengstin and yuehua are amazing to write about

Justin Huang ran away from home when he was ten years old.

Well, looking back now, he supposes it never was a home. At least, the nuns and priests in charge of running the orphanage he grew up in never seemed to let him think of it as one. They seemed relentless in making sure he remember that he was dumped on their doorstep by some whore mother that didn’t want anything to do with him, and that he was just another nuisance to feed alongside the fifty other boys in the place. Justin even remembers a time when he was a toddler, and he cooed a joyous ‘mama’ at a nun, only to receive a hard pinch on the arm and a quick slap on the back of his hands to remind him that he didn’t belong. 

The orphanage wasn’t a nice place, with too many boys for too little space and food. The nuns were old and mean, and the priests stern and always carrying around switches and rulers to hit them when they misbehaved. Justin noticed very early on the heavy stench of the place, that reeked of death and sadness and boys already defeated in life even though they were so young. 

But it was his home for the most part of his childhood life, even if it didn’t want him as one. Growing up was a hassle; Justin was a crazy kid, always getting into trouble and pulling pranks and trying to make the other boys laugh even when they only got half a bowl of rice porridge each for dinner. He was beaten the most out of all of them, the results shown as marks of green and blue across his butt and on the backs of his legs. Maybe it was just how he was, but he didn’t think much of it; just continued to smile and laugh and cause trouble and accept the orphanage as his home and rock.

Until he was ten. Until a priest with a leering smile and greasy voice and too grabby hands was transferred over to the orphanage, and from the first day, had his eye set on Justin. It was relentless, how he always seemed to walk in on ‘shower checks’ when Justin was washing up, how he always tried to bring Justin out to buy groceries or help him with something, how he crept into his room at night and lured him out to his quarters to ‘show him something cool.’ 

Maybe he would have just accepted it for what it was, and continued to laugh and cause trouble in the day, and stare at his bedroom door, listening to the snores of the other boys around him as he waited for his nightly visitor. Maybe he would have continued seeing the orphanage as the place to come back to after a long day of playing or working, and continued to scream and prank around for people’s attention. Maybe, if he hadn’t seen said priest do the same things he did to him to another boy one late evening. 

Justin remembers the look on the boy’s face more than anything: the way his eyebrows scrunched together like caterpillars, the way his mouth pressed together to try not to make a sound, the way his eyes were huge, stretched with fear and meekness and horrible disgust.  _ Do I look like that too? _ he remembers thinking, as he snuck out of the room, trying not to be seen,  _ do I look so pitiful and easy like he did? _

It was easy to leave after that. Justin was gutsy; he wasn’t afraid of too many things, and taking risks were a part of who he was. Climbing out of his bedroom window a week later, with half of a stale bun and a tin of pickled radish, went successfully as well. He had thought he would have to run away from the orphanage that wanted to drag him back, and hid around town for the first couple of days. It stung a little when they didn’t-- didn’t even come looking for him or frankly even showing up in town-- and Justin had to accept that he was never welcome, never belonged there in the first place.

The real hard part came when his food ran out. His ten year old brain thought that he would be able to find food easily even after he rationed the bun and radishes, and was dismayed when he realized that people were much less compassionate than he had hoped they would be.

After two days of having nothing to eat, and him still wandering aimlessly around the town, unsure of where to go now that he was free, he jumped a pair of larger boys carrying a plastic bag of meat buns, the smell too good and too dizzying for him to consider the aftereffects of doing so. 

Justin probably would have been kicked to death by the end of it, if he hadn’t heard the rough, imposing voice of a man through the din of all the swearing and shouting and punching. His arms were still thrown over his head like a shield, and he was still so tense that the man had to yank him up for him to stop trying to protect himself.

He never found out who the man actually was as a person. All he told him was that he had seen him fight the two boys, and liked his spirit and guts. It didn’t really matter.

What mattered was where the man took him.

***

Zhu Zhengting was probably the first real home for him. 

Justin remembers thinking right away that it can’t be real; the slender boy that fawned over him as soon as he and another boy who called himself Zeren can’t be a boy at all. He was too pretty, with misty doe eyes and a dazzling smile, and a shine of warmth in his gaze that Justin had never seen before. 

Zhengting took him under his wing right away, doting on him in the dorms and mentoring him in assassination during training. He fussed over him when he got hurt, got angry when him and Zeren squabbled or tussled around too much, and late at night, when Justin was trying to make an effort to stay quiet even though he couldn’t sleep, snuggled up to him and patted his shoulder until he slipped into slumber.

The other boys were good as well. Xingjie was scarily calm all the time, even when he came for Justin after he had messed up his hair or jumped on his back without warning, eyes dark and menacing, but still playful and understanding. Ziyi didn’t smile, but like Zhengting, checked up on Justin each night for any new injuries, and helped him to the medical wing when he deemed him too injured. Yanchen was funny and happy, and whispered to Justin about the best ways to rile up their fellow trainees or new ways to cause mischief. Zeren was his partner, both having entered SM at the same time, and played with him when he was bored. Xukun was rough and talented: didn’t spare him more than a glance if necessary, but still gruffly asked how he was every morning when they went down for breakfast.

But Zhengting was where he went when he was sad, or when his shoulders hurt too badly, or when he was angry or disappointed at his results. He drew him into his arms, patting his back, and didn’t ask a single word. He let him cry when he needed to, or just sat there with his arms around him until Justin felt sated. 

But it wasn’t until after his first mission with Zeren, when he was shaken awake that one dusky night, that he realized that Zhengting was home. The fact that he was leaving everything, including the boy Justin knew he loved, behind, to protect  _ them _ , the rookies that were worth nothing, showed enough. Sitting in the jeep that night, with a crying Quanzhe leaning against him and Zeren’s face set in a grim look in the front seat, and hearing Xukun’s jarring laughter cutting so harshly through the night air, made his chest hurt with so much sorrow, so much guilt that he was part of the cause for this, that in that moment, he could think of nothing but what Zhengting meant to him.

Zhengting was safety; he fought off the hostile gang members that tried to assault them at night, and threw himself in between them and whatever danger was in sight.

Zhengting was caring; he always left out the sweetest pieces of fruit, the best pieces of meat, the softest blankets for them to take, and kept the leftovers for himself.

Zhengting was warmth; he hugged them at night when they were afraid of what their future might bring, and comforted them when times were tough.

Zhengting was selflessness; he kept them close to him and loved them up in their own unique ways even when they knew that he was hurting the most.

It was no wonder that they would all grow to love him and each other, with a Zhengting nucleus at the center of their family. Even when Wenjun and Xinchun were added into their group, Zhengting still seemed to find a way to distribute his love to all of them, to spread the indescribable feeling of  _ family, belonging, care _ to each and every one of them. 

Zhengting might have been the center of Justin’s short life, the person he trusted the most out of everyone in the world, the boy who brought him up and gave him a home even when he too was just a boy and growing up. Justin had thought that that was all he needed: the company and love from his newfound brothers and mother he had always hoped for.

Until Fan Chengcheng.

Fan Chengcheng gave him stability.

***

“Justin, can you not stomp along this place like you’re trying to destroy the tiling?” Chengcheng swatted, annoyed, at his head, missing him by an inch when Justin swerved out of the way.

He grinned, bringing his boot down loudly against the floor, “What? Or you’ll do what?”

Chengcheng glared at him, lunging for his head again. Justin bent back just in time, and grinned again when Chengcheng grabbed the air in front of his eyes. “Christ, Cheng. You need to calm down.”

“You’re so loud, we’re gonna get caught again. Xingjie is gonna hear you stomping around and will personally beat our asses so hard we won’t even be able to stand up from the medical wing.” He grabbed again, icy blond hair falling over his annoyed eyes, as Justin continued to dodge his fingers.

“It’ll be fineeee. They’ll just think it’s Zeren fighting Ruibin to pass time, or Dinghao showing his shooting to Xinchun.”

Chengcheng didn’t look convinced, “Last time we tried to sneak into their reports with Zhengting, Ziyi caught us a mile away. The only reason I can think of is you being fucking loud.”

“It was only because they were expecting us to show up!” Justin caught Chengcheng’s hands in midair, pulling them towards himself dramatically, “They have no idea this time!” He forced his struggling hands down, laughing when Chengcheng scowled.

“Ugh, whatever. Let’s keep going. Let’s not do all of this just to miss their meeting with Zhengting.”

Chengcheng turned around, annoyance painted across his face. Justin pouted, before wrapping both of his arms around his left one. After a momentary struggle to free himself, Chengcheng gave up, and continued to drag both of them down the hall.

They were trying to break into one of Zhengting’s meetings again. Over the month that he had been away on the mission, they hadn’t had a single chance to talk to him face to face. Ziyi had tried to explain to him and the rest of their indignant family that it was too dangerous, and time was too short for everyone to catch up, but it didn’t prevent them from trying to break in on them. Just the last time, Justin watched Yanchen carry a struggling Zeren over his shoulder out the room before smiling apologetically in his direction, perfect white teeth glinting under the hallway light. What him and Chengcheng were doing now was just another attempt in a long line of many.

He missed Zhengting, having never been apart from him ever since that fateful, dark night at SM. He knew that the rest of them did too, even Chengcheng, who had tried to push away the idea of family when he first met him, and scoffed at Zhengting’s dramatic antics.

“Now shut up. Let’s listen outside of the door.” Chengcheng whispered, drawing up in front of the door to the communications door, “Let’s wait until they get a good connection with Zhengting, then burst in.” Justin watched as he ran a hand through his hair. It had grown out, with no one to cut it, falling unceremoniously over his eyebrows now. Justin reached up and messed it up again, focusing on the smooth locks under his fingers even when he felt Chengcheng’s glare on him.

Inside, there seemed to be a lot of muffled muttering. A little different to what it usually was like, which were loud voices and alert comments. They had to make sure that Zhengting could clearly hear when they were saying, and sometimes, they had to shout to make it happen. It was only quiet before a report, when they were discussing what to go over or getting equipment set up. Justin pressed an ear against the door, zoning in on what was inside.

“I think they might be starting.” Chengcheng muttered in his other ear, caging his body in his arms, “I can hear the beeping for when it all gets connected.”

Justin strained hard, picking up a couple of words. 

“Ah yes, the Retributation…” he jerked back, hitting his head against Chengcheng’s chin. 

“What the fuck?!” Chengcheng rubbed at his chin, “Calm down!”

“What the fuck? Who was  _ that _ ?” he whispered harshly, “That wasn’t Zhengting talking!”

They both leaned in again. 

“Where is he?” That was Xukun, with his voice held in tight control and animosity.

The other voice again, “Oh your little slut? Don’t worry, I have him right here.”

“Give him back.” Xingjie’s voice was low and dangerous.

“Give him back? After he made me lose millions in profits and probably relayed pages of my info to you guys? I don’t think so.”

“Give him back.” Xukun again.

“Hmm, I don’t think so.”

A slam, like fists into a table. The sound resounded so heavily, Justin could feel it vibrating against the door. His breath was held in his throat, heart pounding.

“Give. Him. Back.” Xukun’s voice was low and gravelly, the kind of tone that he only usually took on before a kill.

“Xukun.” Ziyi was murmuring, “Calm down.”

“Yes, yes. Listen to your little friend, Cai Xukun, leader of the Retributation and ex-ace and coined “King” of SM Agency. I know all about you guys. I’m sure we can work something else if we all stay calm here.”

“What do you want.” 

Justin could hear the stranger tut, “My, my. So impatient. Shouldn’t we discuss this in a more professional way? I think I should introduce myself, should I?”

Yanchen growled, “We don’t give a shit about who you are. Just tell us what we should do to get Zhengting back.”

“Ah, but you’ll find that who I am really does matter. See, my name is Wu Yifan, one of the newest heads of SM’s drug branch, but you knew that already.” He pauses, long enough for Justin to feel the strange twist in his belly, “But what you probably didn’t know-- or maybe you did, I know your techies are good-- that I am a new JYP official as well.”

In that instant, Justin feels Chengcheng tense up beside him so hard, he can feel the tremor in his own body.

“JYP, huh. You must be the link or alliance point between them then, huh.” Ziyi’s voice is humourless. 

“Bingo.” Yifan is too casual, too arrogant, “I’m the person in charge of relations between JYP and SM, alongside my surface job of the drug branch head.”

“How is that supposed to help us reach an agreement?” Xukun’s low voice thunders out again.

“Patience, patience. You know, in any other situation, I would toss Zhu Zhengting to SM’s main branch. I’m sure they would want him back, him being  _ so _ skilled and all. Maybe break into him a little to try to get him to tell us where the rest of you guys are.” Xukun sucks in a breath so loud, Justin can hear it through the door, “But then again, you’re lucky that you’re dealing with Wu Yifan. You see, one of the biggest heads of JYP, Fan Bingbing, has for years been searching for her dear little brother. Put a nice, fat bounty over his head. Does Fan Chengcheng ring a bell?”

Frozen. That’s what Justin is right now. His muscles are taut, cold,  _ frozen _ . He doesn’t open his mouth, but he doesn’t close it either. He just continues to stand there, ear pressed against the door, heart pounding quickly in his throat, as he feels Chengcheng tense up against his backside. And from the sudden silence in the room, he can guess that the rest of them are as well.

“Well, well. I hit the nail on the head, didn’t I? I got some of my team to scope more into what this pretty toy Zhengting has been up to, and lo and behold, I find a nice little security footage of Zhu Zhengting beating the shit out of a guard with the brother of one of the biggest current heads of JYP. Fan Chengcheng seems to be pretty chummy with the rest of you, isn’t he?”

“We don’t know who you’re talking about.” Yanchen says firmly, and even before he’s done talking, there’s a jarring laughter that cuts across him.

“Protecting your friends, aren’t you. That’s very cute. Well, that’s just it. I’ll give you back Zhu Zhengting if you give me Fan Chengcheng. Otherwise, I’m taking this beautiful little toy right to SM, and I won’t be responsible for whatever happens to him there.”

Justin should have guessed it. He should have sensed the sudden stillness against his back, and should have moved before he even could react to anything. But Chengcheng is up even before he can process what Yifan is saying, what he could possibly be trying to propose, and he is being yanked away from the door so hard he stumbles back and hits the opposite narrow wall. 

He watches, dumbly, mouth still half open and eyes staring stupidly, as Chengcheng wrenches open the door and stumbles inside. He can’t see what expressions they must all be making, but Chengcheng’s backside is so broad, so sure, so tall, that it doesn’t matter.

“Yes. Let’s make the exchange. What conditions will we be meeting under?” Chengcheng says, and that’s it. Yifan must be talking, the others must be talking as well. Chengcheng has to be saying something else as well. 

But Justin doesn’t hear anything.

He stares at Chengcheng’s backside, how the light from inside the room streams all around his figure. How he’s standing so surely and how his voice is so rough but strong and  _ sure. _

It’s the stability Justin’s always found with Chengcheng, has always felt has kept him the most safe. It’s the chest to lay his head against, the shoulders he climbs on from behind, the hand that he clutches onto before anything. It’s everything Justin knows completes his home and everything in between. 

It’s too much, and when Justin finally realizes what’s happened and what’s going to happen, stories and whispers flickering at light speed across his mind, his legs give away under him.

He’s still leaning stunned against the wall when Chengcheng steps inside the room, and shuts the door behind him.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this sort of starts the big chengstin arc. buckle up ;)


	37. Yanjun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was gonna write zhengting, but dude zhangjun have matching bracelets irl and im dying

Yanjun allows his eyes to roam across the crowds of dancing people, adjusting to the flashing multicoloured lights, as they eventually focus on a long table at the opposite end of the room. His fingers come up naturally to tap at his earpiece, hearing the dull buzz over the pounding music resounding around the room. 

A brief moment of static, then voice cut through.

“What’s up?”

“I see him. He’s sitting third from the right at that long white table near the purple lights. He’s wearing a white button down with grey pants. Black hair, gold earrings. You won’t miss him.”

Linong mutters out a quick ‘Roger’, then in seconds, the static is back. Yanjun presses his earpiece again to silence it, before becoming aware of a force against his lower back.

He turns, eyes flashing, only to meet two very dressed up and very pretty girls. They’re giggling, but stop quickly when they see his expression, backing away almost immediately to blend back into the crowd. If they weren’t just plastering themselves up against him less than a minute ago, Yanjun might just feel a little sorry.

But then again, he probably wouldn’t.

The nightclub him and Linong were at was tracked down after weeks of sifting through chat records and security footage. Yanjun had to bribe some sticky fingered brothel owner to get possible locations, and Linong almost got himself killed when some random SM agent caught him creeping around one of their smaller bases. 

It was okay though; they had tracked down where Hendery Huang frequented, and had pinpointed the exact time he would come through the doors. It was perfect. Yanjun couldn’t think of a better opportunity to strike, and he couldn’t be bothered to be fondled up by two stupid girls. 

Though at any other time, Yanjun would be pleased with all the attention he was getting, tonight was different. He hadn’t bothered to dress himself up, only laying on the bare minimum and donning himself in black to blend better into the shadows. He didn’t even have any makeup, though it didn’t make too much of a difference. He still felt the whispers and stares of the people around him, talking animatedly to each other about the hot young man who was leaning against the wall, even when he pulled his black hat and mask over more of his face.

At least he wasn’t the only center of attention. He could see Linong walking across the room, silky pink shirt stretching beautifully over his lean body, his black hair falling innocently across his forehead, and eyes stretched wide and pliant. The people made way for him as he passed them, squealing to each other about the adorable boy with gorgeous legs and an addicting smile. Yanjun lifted the corner of his mouth despite himself; Linong was sweet and quiet for most of the time, but when he needed to be the center of everyone’s attention, he knew how to do it pretty damn well.

The night was fresh, young. Dusk had barely dragged on when him and Linong walked through the doors, and the drinks hadn’t been pouring for long. The dance floor had just began to fill up with dizzy men and women, and the music thundering but not painful.

Yanjun looked up again to see Linong slide into the stool beside the target, smile stretching innocently and eyes crinkling into half moons. He watched as their target leaned in towards him, lips moving up and down in the shape of the smirk he had memorized over the past few weeks. Hendery Huang was as handsome as he had always been, hair styled perfectly with just the right amount of makeup around his face.

He felt his stomach churn at the sight of him. The man who had hurt Zhangjing. The man who had let his agents use him like an animal, and who had ran away like a coward when they came to take him back. How he would have loved to be the one greasing up him tonight, playing around with him the same way he had toyed with Zhangjing. Flattering him before giving him the ugliest taste of betrayal. Yanjun had feverishly demanded it be him, before Nongnong had logically pointed out that there was no chance Hendery didn’t already have his face blacklisted among his circles. 

So instead, he leaned against the wall again, letting the music pound around him, watching Nongnong as he innocently flirted with their target, glaring away the people that had enough guts to approach him. Like he said, the night was young. It would be some time before Hendery Huang was intoxicated or buttered up enough to play into their trap.

As the strobe lights glided across his face, he allowed his mind to drift. A short boy with chocolate hair and a heart shaped smile flew across his subconscious, and he smiled in spite of everything. Yanjun thought of the way his upper gums showed when he laughed too hard, and how he had been so embarrassed when Yanjun pointed it out to him for the first time. Zhangjing’s laugh was tumbling, bright, jumpy. Yanjun often complained about how loud it was, and poked at Zhangjing’s side when he pouted in response.

Now, all he wished was that he could hear it again. See the gummy smile all over again, how his lips pulled above his bunny teeth. Before, it seemed like Zhangjing did nearly all of the laughing and smiling between them; now, it could be considered a good day if Yanjun could even get him to crack a smile, no matter how tight lipped or forced it was.

A week into Zhengting leaving, Zhangjing had had one of his first panic attacks. Worked himself into believing that it was his fault all of Zhengting’s kids were mad at Xukun, that he was the reason for why Yanjun couldn’t go to complete the ‘main mission’ and that Zhengting had to go. Yanjun had spent nearly forty minutes trying to calm him down again, and had nearly cried again himself. In the end, he had tucked himself into Zhangjing’s hospital bed again, and folded Zhangjing’s struggling form into his arms until he stopped rambling, stopped twisting around. They had laid there, until Zhangjing’s breath evened out, and Yanjun was left staring at the ceiling.

Occurrences like that weren’t uncommon in the weeks to come, and Yanjun would be lying if he said that he wasn’t frustrated at times. He had reassured Zhangjing time and time again that nothing was his fault, that he was safe now, that he didn’t need to worry about anything more. Zhangjing was lifeless when he said something like that, and didn’t offer any resistance to any of the arguments he was making. A week would pass, and he would be horrified by the same things again, not touching his food and tossing and turning in the night until his blankets were a mess of twisted, destroyed cloth. 

Zhangjing had lost weight, the once full body slimming down until Yanjun couldn’t even recognize his silhouette from behind. Before, the boy might have been delighted; Zhangjing was always talking about how he wanted to lose weight, and Yanjun would humour him with light jokes and gentle pokes at his stomach. It was funny almost: Zhangjing before would be so happy to know that he would one day be this thin. Yanjun might also have been happy for him, if he didn’t see the red gradually drain from his cheeks and his skin turn sallow and pale to hang off his arms. 

He didn’t seem to want to eat. The reason why, Yanjun didn’t know. Zhangjing just shrugged the food away, and only took a few non-committal bites if he found out that someone had worked hard to make him it. Afterwords, he would just go back to his lifeless shell. 

At times, Yanjun wanted to tear his hair out. Maybe it was a curse in the end that Zhangjing was one of the few people he could never decipher, could never see crystal clearly. Though he thought he knew why Zhangjing was suffering so much, he didn’t understand it. He couldn’t see why Zhangjing was hurting so much, even after asking him so many times. Each time, Zhangjing would offer up a feeble smile and reassure him that it wasn’t because of what happened with Hendery, though it was true that he wasn’t completely healed from that experience. He claimed that he was okay, and if that wasn’t painful enough, the knowledge that Zhangjing didn’t trust him, didn’t seem to want to tell him what was bothering him stung more. Those times were the worst times. When Zhangjing was miserable and Yanjun was so confused and frustrated that he didn’t know what to think anymore.

In those moments, the thought of Zhangjing smiling again was what reminded him that nothing else mattered. If he could see that gummy mouth curve into a heart again, bunny teeth on full display, Yanjun didn’t care if he had to turn the entire world over to do so.

Why? 

Because he was Zhangjing. Because he knew how to make Yanjun happy and because he kept him safe. Because he reminded him that there was still hope. That everything was good even when they were the more horrible people alive. Because he mattered to him. 

Whatever else that meant, he couldn’t be sure.

But what did matter right now was how he could see Nongnong pull a tipsy Hendery out of the dance floor, giggling innocently and looking bashful when the man groped at his ass. Yanjun straightened up when he saw them leave through the side door, and pulled down his hat over his face. He cut through the tumbling crowd, thankfully going generally unnoticed, before exiting through the same door.

He knew where to go. Him and Nong had agreed on a location beforehand. In a darkened alley only a couple blocks away. Where there were more abandoned apartment complexes than people, and where Xiao Gui had cut the security cameras earlier in the night. Yanjun strolled nonchalantly under the full moon, stride casual but back rigid and tense. He turned the corner where they had agreed on going to, and saw them.

Nongnong was plastered against the brick wall of the alley, hoisted up halfway into the air, face tilted upwards so that Hendery could suck a red mark to his pulse point. His mouth was open slightly, cute expression controlled, and fingers tangling messily through Hendery’s hair. Hendery himself had his back turned towards him, occupied with attacking Nongnong’s neck and grabby fingers roughly fondling his ass. Yanjun felt a lurch in the pit of his stomach at the sight of them. Was this the way he had taken his Zhangjing? Were the fingers digging harshly into Nongnong’s waist the same as those who had left bruises littered across Zhangjing’s body? Did he also roughly force him against a surface and take everything for his own gain, the same way he was touching Linong now?

Yanjun stood silently a couple meters before them, until Linong dipped his head enough to see him again. Yanjun saw the way his previously innocent eyes focused and hardened before he suddenly raised a knee against him. Hendery, obviously slightly drunk, stumbled back. His face began to twist in a grimace of anger, hand coming up to strike, before Yanjun closed his hand around his wrist.

Hendery spun around, eyes flashing. He lunged for Yanjun instead, swiping dully at his head. Yanjun scoffed at how weak the man could become with too many drinks, and roughly pushed him against the wall. He stumbled and dropped to the ground. In seconds, Linong was on him and had stripped him of the larger weapons on his body that he had previously felt out.

“What the fuck?” Hendery slurred, eyes narrowing in fury, “Do you know who I am? Get your fucking hands off me, whore.” He directed the last part to Linong, who then straightened up and tucked the last pistol into the waistband of his pants.

Yanjun kneeled until his face was directly in front of his. Until Hendery could look right into his face, and he could see the recognition crawl across his face. 

“Lin Yanjun?” He squeaked, backing up more solidly into the wall, “Retributation?” He made a quick motion to dart out from the side, but Yanjun had practiced that trick too many times with Yanchen, and forced him down with a knee.

“Recognize me?” It was so important, that Yanjun keep his cool. That he still use the same signature flirty drawl to keep himself in control, even if a creeping heat was spreading fast from the pit of his stomach and across his whole body, “Hendery Huang?”

“Look, I don’t know what you need to find me for-”

Yanjun cut across him, “Oh, I’m sure you’ll understand soon enough.” He nodded to Linong, who turned and padded towards the end of the alley to keep watch. 

“I never got anything worth telling SM. In fact, I was the one who got in trouble when you guys broke in. Hell, You Zhangjing didn’t give us anything except-”

Yanjun punched him hard in the mouth. Hendery spluttered, mouth too loose and body too unstable from the drinks Nongnong had forced into him, before scrabbling to the ground again.

“Yes. He didn’t give you anything. And when he didn’t, you raped him, and gave him the worst hell I want to bash your face in for.” He was still eerily calm, he knew. Hendery’s eyes were widening.

“No! No! I don’t know what he told you, but I never- we never-” He cut himself off when he saw Yanjun slowly pull on the brass knuckles, backing up into the corner. Yanjun loomed over him.

“Shhh. Shhh. Don’t worry. I’m just going to give you a little thank you gift for taking care of my Zhangjing. A little gift from the Retributation…”

He stepped closer and closer, until Hendery’s eyes were like two black pits under the dim moonlit night, and there was nothing else in the air between them but red.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls tell me yall know how yanjun has the same bracelet as zhangjing
> 
> he was spotted wearing it a couple days ago; it was the same as the one zhangjing wears and the one he wore at the banana family concert
> 
> lmk about the chapter!


	38. Zhengting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: bad writing, but i had to put this filler in otherwise we'd be missing out big time

Zhengting spends what feels like a century dipping in and out of consciousness. He’s shackled to something, and there is too much of an ache in his whole body to be natural, but he never gets to find out why as he seems to fall back into darkness just as fast as he comes too. Sometimes, he wakes to someone kicking him. Sometimes, he just comes to naturally. But each time, he’s drugged back just as fast with a sharp prick at the side of his neck, and he spends the next stretch of time slipping away into nothingness.

Eventually, however, he realizes that he’s not slipping away anymore, and that the dim light in his eyes is there to stay. He shifts, hands still shackled behind him to something, and squints until he notices the man in front of him.

Yifan is smirking, blond haired perfectly styled and dressed in a black suit. Zhengting tries to sit up more, but his hands prevent any more movement than what he already has.

“You’re awake now.” His voice is dry, but there’s a certain underlining of ugly glee in it all that Zhengting knows something has happened.

“After how long?” He tries to move his legs, but realizes that he physically cannot. A cold discomfort seeps through his veins.

“A couple days.” Yifan admits. He notices Zhengting scrabbling around, “Ah, don’t even try. I beat your legs so that you wouldn’t be able to escape even if we did stop the aphrodisiac. Can’t take any precautions against the ex-Ace of SM.” 

Zhengting slumps back. That must have been the reason for why his body throbbed so much. He had to give Yifan credit; it was smart to disable someone’s legs if you didn’t want them to go anywhere. His legs hurt so acutely, Zhengting can’t do anything except grit his teeth. He just hopes that they didn’t break them in any way.

“Now come on. We’re going somewhere now.” Yifan waved his hand and two guards sprang into the room. 

Zhengting cocked an eyebrow as they unlocked something behind him, though his hands were still secured together. He didn’t make any moves to resist. “Can I ask where we’re going?”

Yifan smiled, showing his white teeth, “Just sending your whore ass back to where you came from.”

SM . He should have known. “Perfect, they’d be  _ ecstatic  _ to see me again. They finally get their best agent back!”

“Oh, no. Not SM. I have a better use for you. Or, maybe just Cai Xukun does.”

Confusion clouds Zhengting’s head, and he lets his face show it, furrowing his eyebrows questioningly. Yifan is sending him back to the Retributation? Instead of SM, who would be certain to reward him, but the place that he had leaked all of Yifan’s secrets to? 

Yifan sees his confusion and smiles again, beginning to stroll out the door. Zhengting is lifted and carried out behind him. “I have to admit, I was surprised by how much Cai Xukun must need you back. You’re smart, and a demon, I have to say. And now I know how good that pretty mouth and ass are, so you must be even better for him if he’s going to do so much to give you back.”

Zhengting doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let Yifan know how confused he is. Xukun is making a trade for him? He can’t say he’s overly shocked; Xukun was still Xukun, no matter how many things had changed between them. What he’s nervous about is just how much Xukun gave to get him back. How many millions did he have to pay to fill up what Yifan lost these past weeks with Zhengting? How many codes, information, weapons, and supplies did he have to hand over? It must be a lot if Zhengting is allowed to go back relatively unscathed with only a couple temporarily disabled legs he knows Mubo and Fen can fix.

He’s blindfolded, and feels himself be carried past the various halls of the mansion. There’s chattering all around him, and at one point, a hard pat on the ass. But eventually, he’s being thrown to the back of what he guesses is a car, and two more guards roughly pin him between them.

They drive, Yifan laughing crudely about something the entire way in the front seat. Other gruff voices are joining in his glee, chortling loudly all around him. Zhengting bites his lip and tries not to think of the possibility that this could be a trap, that what handing over so many materials and supplies could mean for the Retributation.

Then, just as suddenly as they left, Zhengting feels them pull to a stop. 

“Let’s go, whore.” Zhengting finally gets the blindfold ripped off his eyes, but before they can adjust to the overly bright light, he’s yanked roughly out of the car.

His eyes adjust quickly to the hot white light around them, and through the throbbing behind them, he slowly focuses on a small team of people in front of them. 

Xukun, mouth set in his infamous icy face. Yanchen, barely controlled and with danger radiating off him. Ziyi, darkly handsome and serious. 

They’re standing a few yards away, weapons at the ready and bodies tense under the hot white sun. Yifan pulls Zhengting to his side, draping over him slightly, and slurs into his ear.

“Damn. The Retributation isn’t the Pretty Boys Group for nothing. I’d take any one of your friends to warm my bed any day.” Zhengting doesn’t say anything, just stares ahead into Xukun’s eyes, wondering what on earth they could be trading to get him back. He can’t see any briefcases, no paperwork, no trucks of supplies or weapons. Whatever it is, he can’t figure it out.

But then, he sees him. The icy blond head peaking out just behind Ziyi. The long lanky body toned with thin muscle. The dark brown eyes that are both serious and mischievous.

“Chengcheng…” He allows it to slip out. What the hell is he doing here? A high maintenance transaction like the current one is no place for one of his children to be at. What was Xukun thinking bringing him here?

“Ah yes. I forgot to tell you about the best part, did I?” Yifan husks in his ear. His hot breath makes the back of Zhengting’s neck prickle. “I never did tell you too much about myself, did I? You didn’t know that I was the linking official between SM and JYP, did you?”

Zhengting freezes. He slowly tilts his head to face Yifan. “JYP?”

Yifan chuckles, “Yes, Zhu Zhengting. JYP. Where your little friend Fan Chengcheng grew up to become the ace, and where his older sister has a fifty million bounty over his head. I’m sure you knew that, did you?”

He did. Just not the second part.

Zhengting reacts faster than Yifan can even keep up with. His legs are battered-- the only reason he’s standing is because Yifan is holding him up-- and his arms are still cuffed behind his back. So instead, he lunges forward and bites Yifan’s face as hard as he can.

Yifan howls with pain, punching Zhengting square in the face. Zhengting falls backward, unable to stabilize himself without his legs, and crashes at his feet. Yifan kicks him in the ribs, swearing loudly, and through his legs, Zhengting can see Xukun’s party seethe with rage.

“Wu Yifan! We came to make a deal!” Yanchen snarls, just barely held back by Ziyi. Xukun is icily angry, fists and jaw clenched. Zhengting can’t tell what Chengcheng is thinking; his face is set so hard and so firmly he can’t figure anything out about his kid.

“Yes, yes. Let’s get on with it.” Yifan drags him up again, pinning him still. Zhengting screeches and thrashes around in his arms.

“No! No! We can’t make this fucking trade!” He screams at Xukun’s approaching group, “Cai Xukun, you fucking bastard!”

They’re unfazed, and it’s only when Chengcheng pushes past Ziyi, too sturdy and too sure of himself, that he loses it completely.

He screams, fighting harder than he should be capable of. “No! Take me to SM! I’m not part of the Retributation, you can ask them. I don’t want to be traded back! No!” Yifan only drags him nearer to Xukun.

Xukun himself is impassive, hands clenched by his sides. “Fan Chengcheng in exchange for Zhu Zhengting unharmed.”

Yifan nods, still keeping a shrieking and struggling Zhengting sturdy in his arms.“Take him back.” 

He pushes him forward, and he stumbles, legs too battered to hold himself up. A pair of hands pulls him up, and he’s suddenly brought so close to someone, he can smell the familiar scent of sage radiating off him. He looks up right into Xukun’s cold eyes, feels his fingers clutch around his own waist. Zhengting meets his gaze, desperately.

“Xukun! Please. Don’t make the trade. Please. Please don’t make this trade. I’ll be fine with SM. Please don’t give Cheng to him!”

Memories are racing through his mind, of the terrible way Chengcheng had described JYP. Of how little he wanted to talk about his own childhood, and how he shook in his sleep until Zhengting pried him awake again. How he never fell unconscious and how he grit his teeth down for something no matter how painful it was. Of how he never cries, and never wants to show any thread of weakness. 

All of them have scars. Justin has a huge one under one of his ribs from a couple years back, Wenjun has small flakes of them on his hands from mishaps with a surgical knife, Quanzhe has one slightly above his eyebrow, Zeren has a flurry of them across his torso and now on his back and shoulder, and Xinchun has the most out of all of them, a pattern of lashes and streaks across his back and around his legs from years of abuse. Zhengting himself has a couple around his waist. But Chengcheng’s body was clear from the first day he met him, and he only got his first scars after they patched up the bullet holes in his legs. 

What scares him aren’t the physical scars.

It’s the emotional ones. The reason why Chengcheng has such a hard time with the idea of family. The reason for why he stayed with them instead of going back. The reason for why he keeps himself too strong and too resilient. Zhengting loves him more than anything, as with the rest of his kids, and he would die before he saw Chengcheng open them up again.

So it’s horrible and freezing cold at the same time when Xukun shakes his head, impassive, and pulls Zhengting tighter into his arms.

Zhengting fights. He thrashes around crazily and pleads louder than he intends to. He screams at all of them to please, please,  _ please _ don’t do this. 

And when Chengcheng walks across the no man’s land, not looking back, he screams even harder.

“Please! Chengcheng! Get your ass back over here! Please! Please don’t do this to me! Please! Please-”

Something slams into the side of his head, and it’s all too much. The pain in his legs is becoming dizzying from how much he’s trying to fight, and his arms are pinned too tightly behind him, and his panic, his frantic pleading and screaming is making his head pound. As Zhengting goes limp in Xukun’s arms, black swirling around the edges of his vision, all he can do is look forward.

Yifan courteously opens the door to the car, and Chengcheng steps into it, shoulders held straight and proud, icy blond hair rippling under the sun. 

He doesn’t look back, but maybe he does. Zhengting doesn’t find out though, because another thud at his head makes everything slip away entirely.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god, family yuehua.
> 
> zhengkun are gonna be crazy.
> 
> but (spoiler alert!) chengstin might be even more so ;)


	39. Linong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two things: 
> 
> 1: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ZHANGJING! IM SORRY THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A ZHANGJUN CHAPTER TO CELEBRATE BUT IT WAS TURNING OUT BAD AND I DIDNT WANNA DELAY!1!! i just realized that theres a zhangdejun weibo group thingy, and omg.
> 
> 2: this is a very weird chapter with an unconventional pairing. im serious. very weird. pls dont hate me.

Linong is so tired.

Usually, when he can’t sleep during the night, he rolls over to one side and whispers at Zhangjing’s bed. Nine times out of ten he’ll wake up and whisper complains about being woken up again, but then walks over to Nongnong’s bed and tucks himself in. Linong is used to listening to Zhangjing’s bubbly voice, all subdued joy and happiness, all to the backdrop of Yanjun’s gentle snores as he falls asleep for good.

It’s a well known fact in the Retributation that Chen Linong has a very, very hard time falling asleep at night. He sleeps deep and heavy when he actually does fall asleep, but getting there is such a struggle before that no one would ever guess. 

Linong isn’t sure why he can’t just fall asleep normally, but he supposes it’s something to do with how much he thinks everyday about the various events that occured. It doesn’t have to be something huge even. When he was younger, maybe, the thoughts of what he was becoming keeping him wide awake and staring at the wall after twelve. Now, while he was used to thinking of himself as a monster, other things kept him awake. It didn’t matter if he was feeling sad, happy, angry, pensive, or whatever: as long as something slightly interesting happened during the day, he couldn’t sleep.

Back at SM, only Yanjun and their other roommates knew this. How could they not over time, when Nongnong’s skin turned sallow and his eye bags turned black from lack of rest? In the end, Yanjun was the only one who did anything about it. His other roommates didn’t speak to him if they could help it- whether it was because they were scared of him, jealous of him, or simply just trying to help dig his own grave, he never found out. Yanjun slept fast and easy every night, but told Nongnong to wake him whenever he couldn’t sleep. They spent nights like this for years, with Nongnong tossing and turning until he couldn’t stand it anymore, before giving in and going over to shake Yanjun awake. Yanjun, never a crazy touchy person outside of his work, would walk him back to his bed and hold his hand until he fell asleep.

He wasn’t sure why just a simple hand hold could make him fall asleep so quickly. Perhaps it was the stability that came with it, the feeling that someone was there to keep him safe when he was the most vulnerable.

After they had left, Zhangjing took the job that Yanjun had been helping Nongnong with for years. He noticed after a few days of rooming with them just how hard it was for Nongnong to fall asleep, and scolded Yanjun for not doing a better job of getting him to bed. Ever the caring person, Zhangjing would climb into Linong’s blankets at the start of each night, and hold him in the darkness and whisper hopes in his ears. This got him to sleep almost as fast as a normal person, and prevented him from thinking of things that would bother him into the early hours of the morning.

The rest of the Retributation knew this as well. It came out one night when they were all huddled together, and Yanchen asked why Linong was always pacing the halls at night when they were younger. Nongnong had admitted he had a problem with falling asleep, and that he couldn’t do so without someone there to comfort him. 

Which is why precisely that when Yanjun left their dorm to stay in the hospital wing with Zhangjing, Xukun pulled him aside and asked him if he was going to be alright just sleeping by himself. Nongnong had smiled his signature sunny grin, and said that he would be alright. 

He could have asked any of them to keep him safe, or if he was desperate, just slept in the medical wing with Zhangjing and Yanjun. But seeing Xukun and Ziyi’s tired faces from facilitating Zhengting’s mission and Zhangjing and Yanjun’s desperate need for each other made the words stick in his throat and never come out. 

He had asked Zeren to room with him for the first bit, one, because he didn’t have his own room and bed, and two, because he hoped that just the company of someone would be enough now. He should have known that it wouldn’t work, and that he would spend more time staring at his sleeping form rather than actually getting to sleep.

Then, Zhengting left for his mission and Zeren moved into his room, and Linong was alone again. 

Zhangjing was physically healed then, but didn’t seem to want to leave the medical wing. No one tried to force him out, which meant that him and Yanjun still didn’t return back to their dorm. Even if they did, he supposed, he didn’t want to tear their focus on each other and road to recovery away just so that they could spend some time with him.

It was incredible, how even after so many years, the nights could still be exactly the same. Nongnong still lay in his bed, in the same position he always had when he couldn’t sleep, on his back, with his hands across his stomach and eyes trained on the ceiling. The bunk bed beside him was empty: Yanjun and Zhangjing were sleeping in the medical wing again. 

He didn’t know what time it was, the last time he checked being almost 1 am. Now, he was sure that it was well into the early hours of the morning. He hadn’t gotten a single wink of sleep, and now, he was even afraid of checking the time again.

Unable to take it any longer, he slowly pushed himself up. It was dark, but his eyes were so used to the darkness by that point, it didn’t matter. Quietly, he creeped out of bed and into the hall. 

There was only a very dim stretch of light bordering along where the ceiling and wall met. Linong stared at it as he began pacing up and down the hall, being careful about where he placed every foot. Hopefully, the pacing would work tonight, as sometimes, it did.

Tonight, it was Zhangjing that had kept him up. It was ironic, almost, how the person that usually was the reason for why he could sleep well was tonight the reason for why he could not. Images of Zhangjing’s broken body in that puddle of fluid raced through his mind, making his insides twist and chest constrict painfully. 

Linong was smart enough to know that it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anyone’s specific problem: just a group miscalculation they all had a hand in. Then why did he still blame himself? Why did he still feel like he should have dropped everything and accompanied Zhangjing and Yanjun on that mission that night, and take out Target B even before he could sense what was up?

And Yanjun. He wished he would stop beating himself up for what had happened. He understood why he did-- he felt the same way-- but seeing his best friend hurt so much only amplified his own pain. Yanjun had taken it the hardest, he had to admit, even harder than Zhangjing himself. He had positively refused to do anything unless it was Zhangjing related, and kept close to him at all times of the day. They all understood, even if in the process, the details for  _ why _ got tangled up so messily.

The door was open even before he could look up. Linong stared at the ground, seeing a pair of slippers in the top of his vision. He slowly moved his eyes up.

Bi Wenjun, with his gorgeous face and tall body. His brown hair was tussled at the top of his head, and with sleep in his eyes.

“Nongnong?”

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you up? I’ll be more quiet-”

Wenjun bent down, peering at his face, “Have you not slept?”

Nongnong stared back. Wenjun looked calm, gentled, but there was a certain intensity in his voice when he asked that, that he didn’t want to lie. The boy was careful and quiet and calm for most of the day, he had observed, but after his staredown with Xukun at the last meeting, he wasn’t sure if he was all that.

“Your dark eye circles are concerningly black, and even under this light, I can tell that you’re eyes are bloodshot.”

“I haven’t been able to sleep tonight.” He admitted, scratching the back of his head, “Too many things to think about.”

Wenjun looked at him knowingly, “And judging by the state of you, you haven’t been able to sleep for a while now. I was going to talk to you about this; you haven’t been looking well, and you’re a little more sluggish during the day than usual. What’s wrong, Nongnong?” 

He shfits on his feet, leaning against the doorframe. Linong takes a step back.

“It’s nothing, really. I just haven’t been getting enough sleep.”

“How did you get enough before?”

“Yanjun and Zhangjing usually help me fall asleep.” 

Wenjun studies him for a while, “And you can’t sleep without them?”

“I’ve never been good at falling asleep.” He admits, looking at Wenjun’s calm face a little sheepishly, “I can only sleep when someone is there to watch over me.”

“Could you sleep well when Zeren was dorming with you?”

“Not really. I don’t like telling people so much about this, since it’s silly anyways. I just let him sleep and tried to not wake him up,”

“Okay.” Wenjun steps out of his doorframe, and turns around to close the door softly behind him. “Let’s go.”

“What?”

“Let’s go get you to sleep. You’re tired, aren’t you?”

“Wha- You don’t have to-” He stammers, hand darting out to hold Wenjun’s hand still. “You don’t have to-”

“Shhh. You’re going to wake Quanzhe, and he’s super grouchy when he’s disturbed. Come on.” He turns and pads a bit down the hall until he’s at Linong’s dorm room. He opens the door and tilts his head in its direction like he’s inviting him rather than just calling him over.

“You really don’t have to do this, I usually fall asleep pretty soon anyways.” Linong says softly as he follows him, “I’m serious.” 

Wenjun’s face is composed, “Yes, but I’m serious in that you need to sleep  _ now _ . Go get into bed.”

He sounds like Qin Fen or Mubo when concentrated with trying to patch him up, and Nongnong smiles in spite of the situation. Seeing that there isn’t any point in arguing any more, he obediently climbs into his bed. Within moments, Wenjun is sitting on the edge of it, hand smoothing over the folds in Linong’s blankets.

“Do you usually do this?” He asks tentatively, relaxing underneath the gentle touch.

“Mmm. It’s usually for Zhengting, when he wakes me up after he has a nightmare.”

“Zhengting has trouble sleeping as well?”

“Not as much ‘falling asleep’. He just has a lot of nightmares that wake him up in the middle of the night, and he feels better when I soothe him a little.”

“I sleep like a rock when I actually do sleep, so don’t worry about that. Really, you should just-”

“Shhhh.” He hushes him, and with his other hand, he reaches over and taps at the bone above Linong’s eyes. The touch is so gentle, and he’s surprised that he doesn’t feel the need to jerk away from someone else’s touch when he’s not at work. Usually, he wouldn’t be comfortable with someone he doesn’t know well touching him so intimately. But the feeling is so good, so soft that he closes his eyes.

They don’t say anything else after that. Wenjun keeps smoothing over the folds of blanket on his chest, until the pattern of his strokes are rhythmic and soft, and Linong can fall asleep.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see what i mean when i said weird. nongnong has pretty bad insomnia.
> 
> i hope ur excited for the next chapter and who its gonna be pov from ;)


	40. Chengcheng

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear this one's good

Chengcheng kills his first man when he’s eight years old.

He still remembers how, after a long day of shooting at wooden targets with his rubber bullet pistol and practicing his kicks, his father had led him by the hand downstairs into the area he usually was never allowed into.

He remembers being excited; his father, a JYP official, and his mother, a JYP trainer, never allowed him to even go near the basement of their mansion. His older sister, Bingbing, had nearly told him once what was down there, before his mother had swooped in and literally slapped the words out of her mouth. She didn’t mention it much afterwards.

Whatever it was, Chengcheng knew it had to be good. Why else would no one ever let him even walk near the basement door, and why else were only the cool people he looked up to allowed to go down there? Maybe it was a surprise for him. His parents had been talking about letting him in on a ‘secret’ at dinner for the past couple of nights.

So when his dad pulled open the door after a couple moments of punching in numbers and scanning his fingers and eye on the monitor, he couldn’t wait. Excited, he bounded down the steps, before stopping and realizing that he should wait for his dad to lead him to the surprise. However, when he saw his dad chuckle from the top of the stairs-- a rare sign of humour-- Chengcheng ran down the rest of the them.

He was surprised by what he saw. Not for the surprise aspect itself-- it was literally just a normal room, with weirdly tiled walls and a concrete floor. The only slightly interesting aspect was how there was a chair in the center of the room, with a man sitting on it, hands handcuffed behind his back, legs cuffed to the chair legs, and a black bag over his head.

As Chengcheng stared at the man, he felt his father’s hand on his shoulder.

“See, Chengcheng. This man here is your surprise.”

He looked up. His father was smiling down at him. Despite the weird situation, he grinned back, “How?”

“We’ve decided to let you in on what our family does.”

“Oh dad. I already know. You and mom work in professional bodyguard training right? Mom’s a head trainor and you’re one of the managers. Me and Bingbing are working to become bodyguards as well.” He playfully punched the air in front of him.

“Well… Sort of. We’re basically bodyguards, but instead of protecting people, we do the hurting.”

Chengcheng stopped, “What does that mean?”

His dad smiled again, and this time, for some reason, he didn’t smile back. “Look.” Chengcheng watched as he walked over to the man and ripped the bag off his head. 

He gasped when he saw him. The man’s face was puffy and nearly black from how many bruises were covering him. There was blood crusting down his chin, and tufts of hair were missing from his head. His eyes were half shut, his chest only barely lifting up and down.

“See, Chengcheng. This man here almost ran away with daddy’s money. So daddy had to run after him and get him back. Now, he’s your present.”

Unsure, he trotted across and patted the man on the leg. It was strangely wet, and when Chengcheng lifted his hand, there was a faint smear of pink across his palm. “Thank you? What should I let him do?”

His father laughed, reaching into his waistband. He pulled out a shiny black pistol, the one Chengcheng had always admired. Seeing his suddenly large eyes, he pulled Chengcheng’s hand towards him and placed the gun in the center of it, “It’s yours.”

“Really!? Thanks dad!” He made the motion to bow to thank him, but was stopped by a quick tut.

“Ah, no. Only after you use the first gift I gave you.”

“Use him? How dad? Should I ask him to clean my room or something?”

His father just smiled. Reaching down, he clasped Chengcheng’s small hand around the pistol. Tucking his small finger over the trigger, he lifted his arm so that the pistol was pointed at the man’s head.

“Wha-what?” Chengcheng stammered, “That might hurt him dad!”

“Oh, Chengcheng. You forgot what I just told you. Our family is like bodyguards, only, we take the fight to people instead of letting them come to us.”

Then, even before he could think of what that could mean, he felt his father press down on his finger, directly over the trigger.

***

Fan Chengcheng stared at himself in the mirror, with his fancy black dress suit and parted hair. He hadn’t seen himself like this in years, in actual fancy clothing instead of scrappy t-shirts and sweats. Yifan had insisted on him changing as soon as they drove to the JYP headquarters, leaving the black suit on a table and taking away his old clothes.

Apparently, his family’s place in JYP had risen again. He wasn’t surprised; his sister had been on a path to become one of the more influential officials when he left them, and he had been talked to many times by his parents about the possibility of running a branch. He was only mildly shocked about just how  _ much _ Bingbing had advanced in ranks.

Perhaps it was expected anyways. Bingbing knew how to kill just as well as he did, and honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if the way she climbed ranks was just killing the previous holders as well. 

Apparently, all of this meant that he couldn’t go back to them just wearing his normal stuff. Yifan had even made him take off his earrings- the silver chains that he had bought from a seedy street market with Justin one night. He kept them tucked into the inner pocket of his suit though; if Yifan thought that he was going to take away the memory of one of the funnest nights he had had, he was stupid.

A light tapping at the door frame. Chengcheng diverted his eyes from his reflection only to see Yifan’s respectfully smiling face.

“Fan Chengcheng. Are you ready to see your sister? She’s been so excited to see you.” His voice was smug, dripping with honey, and Chengcheng’s stomach lurched to think that Zhengting had to sleep with him for an entire month.

“I’m good. Let’s go.” He didn’t try to pull anything funny. The JYP base was huge, if he remembered correctly, with too many security cameras and too many patrolling agents. If he made a run for it, he would just give too many signals on where the Retributation was from the direction he sprinted for alone.

He allowed Yifan to lead him down the hall. Nothing had changed since the last time he had been here. The same training and meeting rooms. The same dorms. Even the punishment centers were the same. They passed by a glass door with a girl chained to the ceiling inside, blindfolded and with her half naked body covered in lashes. He guessed that she had failed in a test or a minor mission; they wouldn’t have made the punishment so light otherwise.

Chengcheng allowed his mind to drift. There must have been some huge reason for why his sister wanted him back so much. He guessed that it was to consolidate her position. Really, she hadn’t wanted to really speak to him after he began to beat her in training. Then, when he was recognized as the official Ace-- an even better agent than her-- she had stopped considering him a brother entirely. But now, with her as an official and their parents stepping down slightly, what she needed was another Fan in power. She never would have wanted to see him otherwise.

His parents couldn’t have been the cause for whatever huge bounty was over his head either. He hadn’t had a good relationship with any of them after that one night down in the basement. When his father tore apart everything he thought was noble and just about what they did, he thought he could deal with it. He hadn’t been expecting the years of heavy expectations. Of harsh words and mounting demands. Of threats and clenched fists itching to hit but holding back to ‘save face’. Until he couldn’t stand it any longer and cut himself off completely from them. 

Honestly, it was probably his fault, the reason for why he was so cut off from his sister and parents. They just wanted him to carry on as a Fan, fulfill the role he was supposed to fill. It was his fault that he hated the idea of it, and what it meant for it. It wasn’t their fault that he detested the idea of killing once his father had showed it to him raw for the first time. It wasn’t their fault that he inwardly hated them for destroying everything he thought was true.

It was their fault, perhaps, for why he accepted it in the end. For why he continued to get up to train each morning, and eventually moved into the actual agent dorms. It was their fault for giving birth to him, and giving him such a terrible raw talent in shooting. At first, he had loved it, the happy feelings of achievement when he could land a rubber bullet into the center of his board. But when he felt the gush of hot blood over his hand that night, and saw the man slump over, head smoking and with an odd mush of crimson leaking out onto the ground, he had abandoned his love for the black pistol in his hand. It didn’t prevent him from being so damn good with it, but just raised another wall between him and his family for his lack of real interest. 

Interestingly, the very skill set he had hated so much as a young boy were the ones he loved the most now, even if his parents had nothing to do with it.

Chengcheng glanced behind him at this thought. As expected, a small group of guards were assembled behind him, some with faces he had seen once or twice when he was a trainee. They weren’t going to take any chances with the ex-Ace of JYP, a choice that he commended.

“She’s right inside here. Just step right in.” Yifan stopped suddenly in front of a glossy black double door at the end of the hall. He nodded at the two guards on each side of it, before they pulled it open.

Chengcheng straightened his suit lapels, fingers brushing over the lump where his earrings were stored, and raised his chin.

She was smiling, in that sickly sweet way she only did when she wanted something from someone. It didn’t matter if it was a piece of candy from when they were kids, or a ten million grant for a project she wanted carried out: the same red lips curved upwards in horns at the corners of her mouth, showing off her beautiful row of white teeth and stunning cheekbones. If he was anyone else, he supposes he would be falling at her feet about now. His sister’s beauty hadn’t lessened at all in the years he had left-- Fan Bingbing was known for her surface job as an actress.

“Chengcheng!” She cooed, standing up from her desk. She strode over, glossy heels clicking against the glossy floor, before pulling him into a tight hug. He didn’t move any part of his body when she did this except for his eyes, following her and staring at her every gesture.

“I missed you so much, little brother! I can’t believe you would just leave us like that! Do you know how much me and mom and dad suffered when we heard the news that you were dead?”

“Dead from the very agents who were promoted soon after?” He wasn’t stupid. He had heard, a couple months after his ‘friends’ had shot him and left him to die near that ticking building, that not only did they get away from punishment, but that they had each been raised in ranks.

“You’re exaggerating, Cheng.” Her almond shaped eyes gleamed, “They did a valiant effort to bring you back. It was a miracle that they even surprised.” 

“I’m sure they did.” He knew that she knew what had actually happened. How could she have not, when they did such a sloppy job of covering it up and his ‘body’ never being found? She was probably even delighted, how with him gone, she could go back to being the Ace.

“They did.” She hummed, “Sit down, Cheng. Let your big sister ask you where you’ve been.” She looked behind him, seeing Yifan’s dipped, smiling face. “Thank you, Mr Wu, for bringing my darling little brother back to me. The money will be transferred to your account shortly. You are dismissed.” 

As Yifan bowed and left, hands rubbing together, Bingbing pulled him to the chair directly in front of her desk. Forcing him down into it, she clapped her hands and the door was closed behind them. 

She slid into her seat on the other side, leaning forward and smiling at him in that glazed way again.

“Now, tell Jie Jie what you’ve been up to-”

“Cut the crap Bingbing. What do you want from me?”

Bingbing tried to look surprised, then hurt. “What? We haven’t seen each other for years and this is how-”

“Bingbing, I know for a fact that you wouldn’t have wanted me back, much less with a fifty million bounty, unless you actually needed me for something.”

Her face went ugly, then morphed immediately back into her saccharine facade, “Maybe I just missed you. Do you know how much our parents cried after you went missing?”

“Ha ha. Very funny. I don’t remember you guys feeling too close to me when I was still a trainee here.” He leaned back in the chair, suit sinking into the luxurious fabric, “I won’t hold it against you, Jie. Tell me why you actually needed me back.”

Bingbing glared at him. Chengcheng knew that he was one of the only people she didn’t have under her thumb in this place; whether that was because he was one of the only people who could see through her, or simply could beat her in a fight, he wasn’t entirely sure. “Fine. Fan Chengcheng. I need you back to stabilize our family’s position, okay?”

Expected. “I guessed as much. Was fifty million really worth it though?”

She shrugged, all warmth gone, “I have my ways. Fifty million is tiny if I can stay in power, and the  _ ace _ of JYP is on my side.”

He scoffed, “Just because I’m here now doesn’t mean that I’m on your side.” He leaned closer, “Bringing me back was a mistake, Bingbing. Even if I was the same person I was three years ago, I still wouldn’t be on your side. I’m not the same person as the one I left here as.”

“You  _ will _ be on my side. You’re a Fan. Our parents are coming in a week to see you again and smarten you up. You should get used to JYP again; you’re status here isn’t to be taken lightly, no matter how much you don’t want to accept it.”

“I’d kill you before I joined JYP again.” He’s blunt, but the words are true.

Bingbing tuts, “You’ve always hated JYP and what we do, even if you were so  _ good at it _ .” Her tone is bitter, full of contempt and hidden jealousy, “But not to this extent. I remember that you even accepted it at one point. Did a couple years outside change you this much?”

Chengcheng doesn’t answer.

“What, a couple years running around with that whore Zhu Zhengting and suddenly, you’re the good person here?”

His blood runs cold, “Zhu Zhengting?”

Bingbing smirks at him, “What, you think I don’t know? After Yifan told me who you were with all these years, you didn’t think I would do any digging to see just what my dear little brother has been up to?” She stands again, sliding her pink nails across the wooden desk, “I’ll admit, it was a little surprising. I didn’t even know SM had  _ two _ aces in that year. That huge escape organized by one of them-- what was his name? Cai Xukun?-- a couple years ago that took most of the best agents in SM was infamous, of course, with that shitty group-- Retributation or something-- coming out of it. But  _ another  _ ace before then? I hadn’t even heard of the Ace Zhu Zhengting. People only seemed to be talking about the King Cai Xukun.”

Chengcheng stares at her full on, willing his face not to move.

“So then, I do a little background searching on this Zhu Zhengting-- beautiful boy, really. So deadly and so skilled as well-- and lo and behold, I find that he’s been running around in the badlands with his own little misfit group. And I check this one grainy security footage from a supermarket, and what do I see? My own brother mingling with those trash.”

“Don’t call them trash.” He growls, “They’re so much better than anything you could be.”

Bingbing smiled, “Protective, are we? I’ll let you in on another secret. I’ll admit, I wasn’t incredibly fond of the idea of having you back, but after I found out about who you’ve been hanging around, I thought different. I mean, I did some looking into the backgrounds for everyone in your little family, and I think I could use each of them pretty well. Zhengting would be the perfect bodyguard and agent for JYP, with how talented he is and those pretty, pretty eyes. No wonder Yifan fell for him for so long. That other pretty boy, what was his name? The tall one-- ah yes. Bi Wenjun. The missing son of Bi Pharmaceutical Conglomerate. How much do you think they’ll give to get him back? And that little boy, Li Quanzhe. Such a cute boy. Trained in socialite and escort skills as well. Could be a perfect spy or just a cute gift for a JYP official I need to check up on. And the skinny, nerdy one. Huang Xinchun. Such a cute boy again. Maybe I’ll just dump him in the techie department, or use him as a bargaining tool for the government. Oh,  _ and  _ the shorter one that can fight like a dog. Ding Zeren. I’ll just use him as part of my personal firing squad, with how dangerous he can look even if he is just a small boy.”

She stared directly into his eyes as he said all this, savouring how Chengcheng must look. Chengcheng stared back, blood thundering in his ears. He had to give it to her, how she could find out so fast about each and every person in his little group, and how she knew exactly what to say about them to make his blood boil. 

But it was what she said next that made him jump up. 

“And finally, that little kid. The youngest one in the group, right, that Huang Minghao? Or is it Justin? Runaway orphan. Such a handsome, cute boy. So young and fresh. I was thinking that maybe we could just ship him back to the orphanage, but it didn’t seem like they would care too much. Maybe, I should just keep him as a pet. My own, personal, cute little pet. Keep me company all day and all nigh-”

“Shut up.” His hands were clenched and shaking at his sides. He was standing up now, barely registering the floor beneath his feet, and body tense with anger, “Shut up. You’ll never recruit them into JYP, they’ll never let that happen.”

Bingbing looked delighted, “Ah, I hit a sore spot, did I? Is it that boy Huang Minghao? Or do you call him Justin? I thought it would be him, after seeing all that footage of you two together, acting like fools. What, is he your new favourite sibling? Your pet?” She leaned into him, “Do you like him, Chengcheng?”

He swung at her head. Bingbing ducked down just in time so that his fist just barely grazed her hair, and punched at a button at the side of her desk. The doors burst open, agents rushing forward to pin him down. Chengcheng took out one of them-- he had been the Ace for god’s sake-- but was eventually pinned back down into the seat.

“I told you. You’ll never get them.” He snarled at her through the arms of the men trying to hold him down, “They’ll never come to you after they hear what you might do to them.”

Bingbing was back in her desk, back straight and eyes gleaming straight ahead, “Oh, they will. Don’t worry. Once I put a couple threats over their heads, they’ll come running straight here. Why wouldn’t they, when I’m the one with you?”

“They wouldn’t-”

“Are you sure? You don’t think that as soon as I threaten to hurt you in any way, your little friends wouldn’t come rushing over to bend over at my feet? You don’t think that Zhu Zhengting would throw everything and come to get you back or just to keep you safe?”

The words die in his throat, and his entire body suddenly feels heavy. It’s true. As soon as anyone of their little group hears about what Chengcheng could be put through-- true or false-- they would do anything to make sure he was safe. It was the same reason for why he dropped everything and agreed to the exchange between him and Zhengting. Who cared about what could happen to him, if he could keep one of them safe?

“You’re disgusting.” He growls, and Bingbing smiles.

“That’s more like it. Stay in line, Fan Chengcheng, and make sure you’re doing everything I tell you. Otherwise, I might just have to contact the Retributation to send over your little friends.” She snapped her fingers, “Take him away.”

Two agents appear on his side again and hoist him up. He snarls at them but doesn’t try to fight, Bingbing’s threat fresh in his mind.

But as he begins to leave through the door, her sweet voice cuts through the pounding in his ears again. 

“Oh, and Chengcheng? I was serious when I said that I would make Huang Minghao my little pet. Cute boys with so much fire like that don’t come around every day.”

And with that, the doors are shut behind him.

***

He’s taken to his old room. Not the one he was sent to live in when he actually entered the agency as an official trainee, but the one he actually lived in as a small boy, ignorant of the world and only aiming to please his parents and play with his sister. The bed is still the same luxurious four poster king size bed, with grey covers and pillows made from linen. There’s the same desk in the corner, with the punching bag hung from the ceiling beside it. His old clothes are still hung neatly in the closet, and the carpet under his feet squishy and soft.

The only parts different seemed to be his door and windows. They’ve been reinforced with a thick metal grating-- probably just more precautions Bingbing took to keep him in.

Funny. She should have been able to predict that he wouldn’t do anything as stupid as to try to leave. He could do it-- he’s sure he can take out a couple of agents and sneak out-- but with her threat of getting Zhengting and Justin involved hanging over his head, he didn’t want to risk it. There were sure to be security cameras all over his room and along the corridors outside; if he made any misstep to indicate that he might leave, Bingbing could call in to the Retributation and get his friends to come protect him. 

There were other aspects in terms of protection and keeping him in as well. Chengcheng hadn’t forgotten Qin Junyi, Li Junyi, nor Bei Honglin’s faces after they had been his only ‘friends’ during his trainee days and then later on shot him and left him to die. They didn’t talk to him-- out of fear, shame, anger, he didn’t know-- which suited him just fine. However, the fact that they were pacing outside of his door with a couple dozen other agents just to keep him company was less than satisfactory.

Chengcheng laid down on the bed, suit already creasing and beginning to wrinkle. He couldn’t care less about what state it was in, even if his parents were sure to coldly berate him for not looking the part of the lost Fan son. 

Staring up at the ceiling, he felt his fingers creep inside his suit pocket. His fingers closed around the silver chain earrings inside, and impassively, he brought them above his eyes under the light. 

They were an asymmetrical pair, with one supposed to hang straight down in a line and the other looping up again to be pinned at another piercing or just the crease of his ear. Justin had convinced him to buy it after a long night at an outdoor street market, in the last hour before they had to go back if they didn’t want Zhengting to beat their asses too hard. He had claimed that he didn’t look  _ too _ ugly in them, and that he wouldn’t find another choice for how terrible he looked in other earrings. 

Seeing Justin’s face, broken open in a toothy grin, freshly dyed blond straw hair falling over his forehead under the orange light of the metal lanterns above them, had made him laugh. Even when the boy pouted at how he wasn’t taking his suggestions seriously, Chengcheng laughed until his stomach hurt and wrestled Justin’s head under his arm. Then, he had bought the earrings, let Justin switch out the plain stainless steel ones he had shoved in his ears before, and he had worn them ever since. 

Justin.

His hand closed tight around the silver chain.

He hadn’t been happy to let him make the exchange with Zhengting. Chengcheng expected as much; if instead Yifan had asked for Justin-- he wouldn’t, Justin was a nobody before SM-- he would feel the same way. But what could they do, when Yifan held one of the single most important people in both of their lives? Zhengting was his home ever since he left JYP for good, and somewhere down the road, he had realized that he had been his only home. Before Zhengting, he had never known what love really was. He had thought that his parents’ burning comments and harsh expectations and forced cold facades had been a sign that they cared for him, truly wanted the best for him. But until Zhengting and Quanzhe and Wenjun and Zeren and Xinchun had taken him in, let him be his crabby self and openly laying out their own histories in front of him, he hadn’t known that that wasn’t love.

And Justin. The boy who had saved him and kept on saving him. The stupid, stupid boy with too big of an ego and too stupid of a head and his dumb pick up lines and silly ideas. Who had clung to him even when he snapped at him to go away. Who convinced him to do dumb things and laughed as they did it. Who made missions fun even when he hated what he was doing with every cell of his body. Who climbed on top of him at night and snuggled up against him even when he swore at him to go away. Who he couldn’t bear the thought of Bingbing taking, and wiping away everything he is and was supposed to be. Who never gave up on him, for whatever reason, he didn’t know. 

They were all too important to Chengcheng, and Bingbing knew that.

He sighs, and, eyes closed, re-fastens the earrings to his ears. 

He falls asleep to the thought of blond boys with piping laughter and toothy grins and the boniest, warmest arms he thinks there are. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love ur comments, pls comment they make me happy.
> 
> chengcheng is the best boy. i love him, but sad for chengstin


	41. Zhengting

Even before Zhengting wakes up, he knows that he’s been screaming.

Why wouldn’t he, when his throat hurts so much, his every nightmare is plagued by some twisted variety of the same idea? Zhengting watches over and over, as Xukun screams his hatred for him as he drives away. Zeren’s shriek of pain as he’s bombarded by bullets. Xinchun’s yell as a blank faced woman raises a belt above his bloody back. Quanzhe’s wail as he’s carried away by armed guards. Wenjun’s groan as he’s curled up against the side of the road. Justin’s scream as he’s torn apart by countless, brutal, unforgiving hands. 

And Chengcheng, screaming his head off. Not out of pain but out of the mounting pressure and heavy atmosphere and fake facades, until it’s all too much and it cracks him down the center. Zhengting watches, as he’s crushed, over and over and over again, the ragged shriek piercing into him until he can’t stand it any longer.

He wakes with a cold sweat and his mouth open in his own scream.

He’s not sure what exactly he’s been yelling, but it doesn’t matter, because Wenjun is rushing into his field of view.

“Zhengting!” He gasps, a bead of sweat trickling slowly down his temple, “You’re awake!” He’s relieved, Zhengting can tell, but there’s enough urgency in his voice to also tell him that it’s not okay.

Because he knows that Wenjun knows as well. What exactly keeps him up at night, and what can destroy him the most thoroughly.

He sits up brashly, the movement sending a resounding pain all throughout his body. Stabbing pains run along his legs, but he couldn’t care less right now.

“Chengcheng.” He says, and his hand is too hard and too tight on Wenjun’s shoulder as he pushes himself out of the covers he’s under, “Where is Chengcheng?”

“Zhengting.” Wenjun begins, trying to help him back down, “Chengcheng assured us he was going to be fine, we wouldn’t have let-”

“ _Where is Chengcheng?_ ” He yells, even though he knows the answer already. The image of Chengcheng’s proud head, already molded back into the cold facade he had before he became the Fan Chengcheng he knew and loved, trembled in the back of his mind.

More footsteps are thundering somewhere near him, but he focuses on Wenjun’s shaken face. His pupils are shaking, his mouth quivering- so unlike Wenjun, but it doesn’t matter: he doesn’t feel like himself anyways.

“ _You let Chengcheng go?_ ” Zhengting screams, hands digging into Wenjun’s skin as they tussle around on the bed. He’s trying to get up, but Wenjun working just as hard to keep him in the bed, “ _What the fuck is wrong with you?!_ ”

“Zhengting.” Wenjun says again, but he’s not calm like the usual Wenjun. His voice is shaky, everything about him is shaky. He can’t tell if, for once, Wenjun is actually afraid of him, or if he’s just as affected by everything as he is. It doesn’t matter. 

“No! You know exactly what Chengcheng went through at JYP! You were supposed to keep them all safe, Bi Wenjun!” He’s harsh and accusatory, and he’s going to regret losing control like this later, but for now, the anger is fresh in his mind.

Wenjun knows, just as well as he does, why Chengcheng hates talking about his past. Zhengting had heard, even as a trainee at SM, what the training system was like at JYP. It involved a system of pressure and hierarchy, with agents turning on each other at every opportunity and heavy punishment being dealt out to the trainees that failed. Less effective overall than SM’s carefully cultivated technique and competitive environment, but no less infamous for the totally unfeeling, cold, glass cut agents they did produce.

Chengcheng had been one of these people: someone with too little emotion and, it seemed, an inability to feel pain. Zhengting got a taste of him the first time Justin lugged him through their doors, when even though he had two bullets lodged in his thighs, he still stubbornly held onto consciousness. He didn’t scream, didn’t even flinch when he took the bullets out of his legs, staunchly refusing the painkillers and anesthetics Wenjun offered him to ease the process along. Just held onto Quanzhe’s hand during the worst part of the surgery and stared hard into Justin’s face above his.

Then, later on, Zhengting found out just how thickly Chengcheng’s mask covered him. The boy was blunt, passionless except for when it came to fighting, tense about anything other than business, and cold all the way through. Until the combined efforts of their little family thawed away all the ice, Zhengting saw Chengcheng to be like a mirror, reflective and promising nothing. 

But then, it had all cracked. He saw a tiny spark of humour in the boy one day after Justin flicked a piece of egg perfectly onto Xinchun’s face- just a fleeting smile at the corner of his mouth before it was gone again. Zhengting had seen it, and inside, he felt a sigh of relief that this boy wasn’t entirely destroyed by whatever past he had gone through. 

He cracked slowly, like a chick crawling its way out of an egg- just a smile there, a mild comment there, a playful gesture there. Until one day, Zhengting noticed that the stoney ex-ace of JYP was nowhere to be found and in his place, a youthful boy with a hunger for an actual life and for the smallest things.

Chengcheng eventually told them, dropping little stories here and there during missions, late at night, or even when they were walking to the grocery store. Zhengting found out about his family’s position, the stifling pressure of years of expectations, his father’s veiled threats, his mother’s harshness- all of it. He found out just how horrible the punishments could be at JYP, and the tension of always having to be the best. He found out about his family forbidding him from being anything else but the best, punishing him when he cried or showed any sort of weakness. He found out about the betrayals, the misery, the thoughts of running away, killing himself, _anything_. 

By that point, Zhengting had grown to love him. He loved Chengcheng just as much as his other kids, and couldn’t bear the thought of him being hurt again. He hugged Chengcheng when he told them these things, and cried for him at night since Chengcheng wouldn’t. It was a long time again until Chengcheng trusted them completely, and became the funny, relaxed, playful, blunt boy who knew that it was okay to rely on them he was today.

It would kill Zhengting to see Chengcheng go back to how he was before, to that shell of a person just barely hanging onto everything, with a stone mask and un-crying eyes and an unsmiling mouth. Which is exactly why it hurts so bad right now, with Wenjun looking back at him with a look of shame, guilt, hurt that tells him that _he knew_ , but _still_ was willing to let Chengcheng go to get him back.

Zhengting throws Wenjun’s arm off him, not holding back anymore, and the movement is so forceful, the boy stumbles back and into another hospital bed. The door to the medical wing crashes open just as Zhengting is tearing the IVs out of his arm, and when he turns to face it, he can see a group of people stepping into the room.

Quanzhe and Xinchun are rushing in, but they stall when they see the expression on his face and Wenjun’s form crashed against the bed. Zeren is somewhere just behind them, but even his usually imposing face crumbles at the sight of Zhengting’s fist, closed around a mess of dripping IVs, eyes manic and uncontrolled.

He must look terrifying; he feels terrifying. 

As his kids rush over to help Wenjun up, Zhengting turns back again to the door, and there, right there under the light, there’s Xukun. 

He’s not smiling, icy face set in that impenetrable mask Zhengting hates so much right now. Ziyi, Yanchen, and Xingjie are a bit behind him, but at the moment, all Zhengting can see is the blond boy with the heart shaped face.

He strides over, his legs screaming every step of the way, and punches him squarely across the face.

Zhengting wasn’t the Ace at SM for any old reason; there’s a reason for why he was so feared, so prized even then. He knows that very few can hold him back, much less when he’s angry. And Zhengting feels more angry than at any other time in his life.

He easily lands another punch on Xukun with his speed, and when Ziyi reaches for him to stop him, he kicks him so hard in the chest, Ziyi falls back, gasping. Xingjie seems to try to be placating him, but the thrum in his ears are louder, and Zhengting answers it with a spin kick at his head. Yanchen is a little harder, with his utter power in hand to hand combat, but Zhengting is so angry it doesn’t matter, and he knows that Yanchen’s pretty face is going to have a few bruises when he finally backs off.

To their credit, none of them are trying to fight him back. They’re trying to dodge his attacks and force him back down; they want to get him to calm down. Xukun is no different. Never having reached Zhengting’s speed in fighting, he puts himself in a defensive stance and grounds down against his every punch and kick. 

“Why did you do it?” he hears himself scream, and he hits Xukun’s defensive arm so hard the force sends a wave of pain up his own shoulder. 

He can see, out of the corner of his eye, how the others are looking at him right now. Zeren has flown to Yanchen’s side, pulling him back from the carnage him and Xukun are making. Yanchen’s face is puffy on one side, so he can’t really tell, but Zeren’s eyes are full of _fear_ and he hates it. Quanzhe is crying again, Xinchun comforting him. For once, Wenjun seems afraid, Xingjie patting his shoulder slowly. Ziyi is still trying to advance on them, despite the obvious bruise along his cheekbone, unsure of when to go in or if he should be doing so at all.

But Xukun, damn Xukun is still the only one that can see eye to eye with him. He’s the only person in this entire building that can stand up to him for this long when Zhengting is like this, the only one who can match his fight, his fire, his power. 

They fight, Zhengting advancing him against the wall, Xukun working hard to defend himself. He’s yelling, screaming at Xukun every punch, and he knows that behind him, his kids and the rest of the Retributation are _fearful_ of what he’s like right now. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care at all.

“Cai Xukun!” he yells again, punching again, and this time, Xukun doesn’t move fast enough to block his face. His fist collides against his temple, and Xukun stumbles to the side, gritting his teeth. Zhengting catches him then, tackling him to the ground.

He punches him again when Xukun hits the floor, the movement sending a spurt of blood from Xukun’s nose. A pair of hands immediately descend on him, not gentle anymore but rough and panicked; Zhengting is expecting it and elbows back so squarely, he can hear Ziyi gasp as it catches him in the pelvis.

More footsteps are thundering down the hall, and in seconds, Linong and Jeffrey are standing in the doorway. Their eyes widen at the scene in the medical wing, but Zhengting screams at them, he screams at all of them to go away.

“Go.” Xukun croaks from in between his arms. Zhengting has straddled him now, pressing his body hard against the ground, and he knows that it’s taking a lot for Xukun to not cry out at the way Zhengting is grinding down on his legs.

“Zhengting! Stop!” Ziyi, for once, sounds genuinely angry, voice stretched thin and taut. Zhengting glares at him, and still feeling manic, just yells at him to just fucking go away.

“Listen to him.” Xukun says again, “Ziyi, take the others and _get out_.”

“You fuckin-” 

“ _NOW!_ ” Zhengting bellows, and this time, Ziyi slinks back a little. He thinks for a moment more, but Xingjie is already rounding everyone up and herding them out the door. The hospital doors slam on their way out, and finally, they’re left alone on the medical wing floor.

It occurs to Zhengting then, through the bloody, panicked, furious haze in his head, that even in this state, Xukun is utterly destroying, utterly beautiful. His lips are busted and swollen, nose dripping blood down his cheek, bright purple and red marks splattering along his arms and cheeks. But his eyes are still so bright, so defiant, so solid that Zhengting feels a new wave of anger rush through him.

He doesn’t have to yell now. “Why didn’t you just send me back to SM?” He sobs, and the sudden revelation that he could have prevented this, that all of this is his fault cracks him down the middle. His hands find their way to Xukun’s throat, and he presses hard down against it through the sudden hot tears that are blurring his vision, “Chengcheng _can’t_ go back to JYP. _Why couldn't you just keep him safe for me?_ ”

Xukun is pushing up against his hands, applying just enough force to not totally unseat them but so that he doesn’t black out from the pressure. Then, just as suddenly as his own tears, he sees Xukun lose that mask of calm, cool contenance.

“I couldn’t.” he gasps around Zhengting’s fingers, “I can’t. _I can’t let you go again._ ”

It’s the first words Xukun has said to him that actually mean something ever since they parted in that car outside Yifan’s mansion. Zhengting hears them, and the force they bring is so devastating, so utterly and horribly true that he feels all the anger, all the fire in him rush out of him at once. His fingers lax around Xukun’s throat, and he bends over, sobbing into Xukun’s shoulder, overwhelmed with it all.

“ _Don’t_.” He pleads, “You should have sent me to SM. Don’t you _understand_ , Xukun. I can’t see my kids hurt so much again. You should have known that. Why did you bring me back? Why did you let Chengcheng go?” He feels Xukun’s own hands clutch at the back of his hand, threading through his hair. When he speaks again, Zhengting can feel the words vibrating through his chest.

“I had to. I can’t lose you again.”

He supposes it’s especially bad because he knows how true the words are. Zhengting can feel the pain Xukun is carrying all around him, through his voice, through the movements of his fingers in his hair, through the thrum in his chest reverberating through his ear. And maybe it’s because he feels the same way. That horrible, terrible fear that he’s going to lose the most important thing he’s ever going to have, that he ever will have. Zhengting cries, sobs into Xukun’s shirt, and he can’t find it in himself anymore to say anything else after that.

Xukun’s arms cage around him, solid and secure and everything Zhengting could have wanted. But at the same time, they remind him that he’s only here because he gave them up in the first place, and then because the one thing Zhengting swore he would protect had to save him from his own failure. Chengcheng’s past comes swimming back again, and this, along with the feeling of Xukun all around him, all hit him so hard he can’t breath, can’t breath at all.

They stay like that, crumpled on the floor, Zhengting bent over onto Xukun’s chest, Xukun’s arms caging him in. Zhengting is crying, overwhelmed with everything, and underneath him, he can feel Xukun’s heartbeat, fast and uncontrolled, echoing around his chest. 

It’s all too much. 

So when Yanchen bursts in a second later, face still puffy, eyes widening briefly at the state him and Xukun are in, he doesn’t have the strength to prepare himself for what he’s about to say. It just hits him full on, like a train, and plows through before he can put up any sort of defense.

_“Justin’s missing.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :o
> 
> nine percent is disbanding soon :((


	42. Zhangjing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is super confusing and super bad. I'm so sorry. 
> 
> Thinking of what Zhangjing's emotions would be was really challenging and difficult to put into words, so I'm sorry this is so late. I hope you enjoy anyways :)

It’s so strange, how everything seems to hang around him these days.

His emotions, his feelings, his memories, his people all seem to hang in the air, dim and taunting, wherever he goes. 

When Zhangjing first woke up in that hospital bed, he was met with a collage of anger and darkness and panic draping the air all around him. So thick and so suffocating, he didn’t think he would be able to breath. 

The faces of everyone he’s known drift around him, eyes glinting and mouths curved in awkward leers he would never see on them in person, as he stares into Nongnong’s hateful sneer, Xukun’s trembling face, Jeffrey’s raging eyes, Zhengting’s fearful gaze. And behind him-- he doesn’t see him, he doesn’t ever seem to have the courage to turn around-- he can feel Hendery Huang’s hands on his back, tearing into his clothes and digging his fingers into his flesh, as they yank and claw their way into the deepest part of him. The breaths of the other men are there as well, dull, faceless men who breath too hot and too deeply down his neck and grab too hard at his waist. 

Panic would be what he feels, if inside him there wasn’t such an ugly, disgusting core of another emotion so strong, it drowns out every other thing he could possibly feel.

He’s underwater, and he can’t breath. He’s drowning from the inside from the emotions, the thoughts, the  _ feelings _ he can’t bear to say, and drowning just as bad from the way they all press into him, hands grabbing unnaturally at his body, fingers digging into his skin… He’s drowning. He’s drowning. He’s  _ drowning _ ...

Oh god, Yanjun.

God, there’s still Yanjun.

***

“Zhangjing!” A voice jerks him from his trance. The sliver of urgency in it sends a small tingle down his spine.

He looks up from the paper in his hands, “What?”

Yanjun, with his perfect face and heavily lidded eyes, smiles down at him, “We should go do something.”

“Like what?” his own voice is dull, and he hates the shred of disinterest in it he knows Yanjun can detect. He clears his throat to make it easier, “Do we have any work today?”

Yanjun studies him for a moment before continuing, silver hair rippling under the morning sun, “No, I don’t think we do. I was thinking we should go cook something? Jeffrey was super tired last time I saw him from doing so much coding for Zhengting’s mission, so maybe we could try cooking lunch for everyone instead?”

It’s so simple, so innocent that Zhangjing wants to laugh. He wants to lie down on the ground and scream his mirth into the floor, laugh at his own naivety and stupidity and disgusting feelings. He wants to laugh in Yanjun’s face, scream at him as well for pulling up something so normal to do when he’s a cold blooded killer who murders the people who trust him enough to sleep with him, and he himself is a horrible hacker who wipes bank accounts and destroys online records that could mean happiness for a thousand people.

But he doesn’t. He gently places the paper on the side of the hospital’s bedside stand, and nods his head.

***

Disconnected, that’s what he feels. 

Walking through the halls to the kitchen, feeling Yanjun’s careful hand on the center of his back, Zhangjing can’t help but feel disconnected from everyone and everything.

They passed Ziyi in the hall, and while the tall boy would usually smack him gently on the shoulder, or tease him that he’s headed in the direction of the kitchen, he stops entirely and asks what they’re doing. He’s kind, overly kind, even for Ziyi. Zhangjing doesn’t miss the way his eyes flicker up to Yanjun as if to confirm that what Zhangjing tells him is true, that he’s not going off his head. 

The same goes for Yanchen and Zeren. They pass him and Yanjun on their way to the training center lined with mirrors, and both stop to check up on him, to ask if he’s been okay. He sees the sympathy in their eyes, the carefully covered up concern.

He wonders if they pity him.

He wonders if they dislike him how he is now. If they hate the Zhangjing that crawled out of him that day he woke up after  _ that _ . Zhangjing knows that he’s always been the cheery one, the happy one, the fun one they all turned to when they needed a break. He had always grown up with a lot of friends; even after some turned on him when he got too close with Yanjun and Linong back at SM, he still had plenty to defend him, not to mention Yanjun and Nongnong themself to glare away anyone who threatened him. He’s always been proud that he can lift the atmosphere in the room, always been pleased that he can make Ziyi, Yanchen, Xingjie, Mubo, any of them happier just by talking with them.

Would they hate him now, now that he can’t give them anything else? Now that he feels like every part of him is dipped in heavy, dripping bitterness that he can’t seem to shake off? That when he opens his mouth he feels the words clogging up in his throat for the emotion he can’t bear himself to say, and when he opens his eyes, he sees the faces of the men who touched him instead of their caring eyes?

Is he useless now that he can’t seem to even make himself happy?

“Yanjun.” he stops right outside of the kitchen. The hand on his back lifts. Even it feels too disconnected.

Yanjun stops as well, “What, Zhangjing?”

For some reason, he can’t bring himself to say what he really wanted to ask. Instead, he shifts, “What did you want to make?”

A ray of light is streaming in from the window in the kitchen, and it shines on a side of Yanjun’s face. It’s dazzling, so dazzling, that for a moment he’s reminded of why so many of his old SM counterparts were so in love with him and why every man and woman still make space in their beds for him even if they can sense the danger radiating off him. “I don’t know. We should start with something easy, I think. Baozi?”

He smiles, like he was anything but the monster he can be.

Zhangjing isn’t stupid. He saw the reports, even if Yanjun and Nongnong tried to prevent him from doing so.  _ Hendery Huang, business owner, found mutilated in alley near Club Pandora  _ the newspapers said. There were pictures, even, of the man. His once handsome face was bashed in and so bloody and puffy, it was horrifying to look at. His limbs were bent at awkward angles, and his neck twisted unnaturally to the side. His fingers were broken too, he could tell, and he recognized the signs of ruptured lungs. Maybe he would have dismissed it as SM work, a failure on his part to ship Zhangjing successfully back to SM or to get any substantial information from him, if he didn’t see the tiny ‘8’, scribbled in with a marker, behind his ear. 

He could almost laugh. Yanjun’s symbol was second nature to him now, and he could point it out from a mile away. 

As he gazed back at Yanjun’s earnest face, he couldn’t help but think,  _ do you pity me as well? Do you dislike the person I’m becoming? Did you hate who I was before, but just didn’t ever point out how dispicable I was before to make yourself feel better? Do you pity me so much that you can’t even tell me that you’re going out to kill the people that have wronged me? _

“Baozi are kind of hard. Want to try something like soup instead?”

***

To his credit, Yanjun has been completely caring. 

Zhangjing once joked to the rest of them, that the most endearing trait Yanjun had was that he was caring, and that he could be gentle if he wanted to. Yanchen had howled with laughter, earning a slap from a barely smiling Xingjie, and even Yanjun had pretended to be repulsed at the idea. He hadn’t been completely joking then, even as he grinned sheepishly back at them: he knew that there was a shred of raw compassion inside him even if he tried to mask it with layers of arrogance and stunning cockiness.

Now, he gets the full experience. Yanjun is there with him every hour of the day. To sleep with him, to eat with him, to talk to him, to keep him company. He wakes up every morning to the pressure of his head and arms slumped over his own legs as Yanjun snores in his chair beside his bed, and sleeps to the feeling of his large hands cupping his own. He smiles at him when he feels down, and he’s just so  _ Yanjun _ that he can’t help but wonder again why Yanjun is doing this for him, why he chose  _ him  _ all those years ago.

His best friend has always been caring, he knows this, even if many don’t. But this Yanjun is a side even he rarely sees, the side that is so pure and so innocent that for a moment he can forget what they do and why they do it.

Was this the only reason why Yanjun kept  _ him _ around before, because he made up a facade that everything was okay and would get better?

The question follows him with the faces and bodies of the other men. It pokes him too sharply in the sides and creeps along his legs when Yanjun thinks he’s asleep and passes out from his own exhaustion. 

Did Zhangjing really believe before, that everything would turn out okay? Did he really think that he was someone special, that he wasn’t the disgusting character he made up in his stories. Was he really naive and stupid enough to think that his own story would tie up nicely, with him being carried away with his handsome first love, who would love him unconditionally and whom he would adore and allow to do anything with him? Did he really think they were all living in a beautiful world, full of joy and happiness hidden in the smallest corners?

They stare at him, they probe his ears, his mind. The questions dribble out of the men’s mouths, and he can see their outlines when he closes his eyes. 

They’re enveloped by another feeling as well. The same emotion he feels is drowning him from the inside out and that is clogging up his every airway. 

He screams that day, because he can’t stand it. He can’t stand the feelings that have suddenly surged up inside of him and threaten to drag him under the current. 

“Stop!” he screams, as Yanjun tries to help him grab the pot from above his head. It’s silly, and it’s comical, he knows. But the idea that Yanjun pities him like this, doesn’t think he’s capable of even grabbing a damn pot fills him with so much disgust, he can’t take it.

“Stop!” he yells again, grabbing Yanjun’s arm from where he’s frozen, one hand on the pot and the other on the kitchen counter. He yanks hard, and the pot goes crashing to the floor. “Stop! Stop! Stop!”

“Zhangjing-” Yanjun begins, but he doesn’t sound angry. He doesn’t sound disappointed or angry or sad or anything. He sounds sympathetic, patient, careful. And Zhangjing hates it even more.

“I said stop!” he screams again. He grabs a bowl from another shelf he can reach and smashes it on the floor. “Stop babying me! Stop pitying me! Stop treating me like I’m worthless!”

He grabs another plate and smashes it again on the floor. The men are crowding around him. They taunt him, they leer at him and try to touch him. They whisper at him to grab another plate, smash another one, just one more.

“Stop, stop, stop!”

“Zhangjing!” Yanjun is on him now, strong hands gripping his arms. He screams again then, darkness and images he never wanted to see again crowding his mind. 

Unable to stand it, unable to fight it off, he bites as hard as he can into the juncture of where Yanjun’s fingers meet his skin. His teeth tear through the flesh of his own arm, sink into Yanjun’s fingers, and he sinks down with them, collapsing on the floor, not caring about the shards of glass.

Yanjun doesn’t even flinch, even as his hand is dripping blood that mingles with Zhangjing’s own. “Oh fuck. I’m so sorry, Zhangjing. I shouldn’t have grabbed you. I’m so sorry, so sorry. I’m-”

“Stop!” Again, the manic, wild feeling returns to him. They’re all pressing into him now, suffocating him as he drowns inside, “Just shut up and stop pitying me!”

He realizes then that he hasn’t cried yet. Hasn’t lost control like this yet ever since Hendery Huang tore his shirt and pants open and ran his fingers over his body, and forced Zhangjing to shut down. 

He cries now, kneeling in the shards of glass, leaning with one hand on the side of the counter and the other still in Yanjun’s frip. His tears finally drip down from where they’ve been trapped for so long and they mingle with the blood pouring from his own arm and Yanjun’s fingers, “Can’t you understand? Stop pitying me! It’s not your job this all happened. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Darkness crowds around him, and he finally feels the immense want, the  _ need _ to say what he has been feeling, what he’s finally put into words now that he’s lost it completely.

“I’m sorry.” He croaks, and he can feel Yanjun’s burning gaze on him when he does, “I’m sorry for destroying myself. I’m sorry for not being the old Zhangjing anymore. I’m sorry that I can’t make you happy anymore. I’m sorry I took away what made you come to me in the first place.” He pauses, taking a breath before he can continue, “I’m sorry for  _ feeling so damn disgusting for something you have to do every single day _ .”

It’s out. What’s been tormenting him all these days. What’s been drowning him inside out and has been dribbling from the mouths of the darkness around him. The revelation fills him with such  _ shame, _ such  _ disgust _ , such  _ revulsion _ that he’s being so deplorable when Yanjun suffers much more than he does every single day, and that he can’t keep himself strong, can’t keep himself happy and hopeful and bright after going through one day of what Yanjun has done ever since he was twelve. 

The pounding in his ears is becoming unbearable. He raises a hand to wipe away the steamy tears in his eyes before finally raising his head.

The sight stuns him.

Yanjun is crying. He’s not a sobbing, uncontrolled mess like Zhangjing, but there are sharp tears cutting in his usually composed, arrogant face. He’s beautiful still, of course, nothing could change that. But the tears are cutting into his cheeks and such sadness in his eyes that it takes Zhangjing’s breath away.

He doesn’t say anything, but maybe he didn’t need to anyways. Yanjun puts his arms around him without another word, and allows Zhangjing to bury his head into the soft of his chest.

They sit there, legs cut up by the smashed plates, arms and hands dripping with blood and faces smeared by messy tears. 

***

There’s another feeling deep inside him, he knows. A feeling that’s so disgusting yet so warm that it makes his chest hurt and burn at the same time. He thinks he’s known ever since he looked in Yanjun’s beautiful eyes and listened to him ask him to run away with him and Nongnong to start a new life. He thinks he’s always known, but until now, he’s never had enough courage to face it.

He still doesn’t. But with Yanjun’s arms around him, their breaths mingling in the blood tinted air, he can’t seem to be able to run away from it any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to the reader that left a comment to include some other people in this fic... don't be afraid to comment! I love all your comments and suggestions, and I'll be sure to add them in! 
> 
> thank you for reading this trash, i love you all.


	43. Justin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> first of all, ty to nine percent for all the memories. I hope each and every one of the da chang boys have success and happiness in the future. im crying, but tytyty so much to idol producer for existing and giving me this fandom and all these memories.
> 
> fighting!

Justin presses himself flat against the wall as a group of burly, too tall men walk by him.

In retrospect, showing up at the JYP base riding a motorbike and with nothing but a couple of blades, a hand-held pistol, and half a dozen rounds in his back pocket probably wasn’t a good idea. He hadn’t thought too much about it in the brief time he had to pack; in the five minutes he had to grab what he needed, all he was thinking about was how he was going to tail Chengcheng, Ziyi, Yanchen, and Xukun’s car without being caught, and even harder still, how he was going to follow whatever transportation Yifan was going to use to pick them up. He had hoped that it wouldn’t be a helicopter: he would be spotted a mile away from above and would be an easy target to snipe. 

Which meant that he only grabbed what he thought were the bare necessities. No time to find a bulletproof vest. No time to grab a communications device. No time to even slip on agent clothing. Just his normal hoodie and sweats and a leather jacket before he was tearing out the door. 

Luckily, none of his worries actually came into fruition. He waited for a good five minutes before revving up the bike to follow the car, and the slightly muddy ground made it easy to follow which direction the car had went. The same went for Yifan’s vehicle. He had almost cursed himself for being slightly too slow and missing the transaction and all signs to where Chengcheng had been taken to, but noticed just in time the unfamiliar tire tracks leading to the west.

The building he finally pulled up to was huge. Gorgeous. Panelled with glass and concrete and marble and so beautiful, no one would have guessed that it housed one of the most infamous mafia and agent groups on the continent. Chengcheng had said he grew up in a side house of the main JYP base, but he had never envisioned that it could be that beautiful, that luxurious.

Chengcheng had also told him one evening, as they hung their legs over a bridge and stretched out the minutes to when they knew Zhengting would be the most angry, that JYP agents, though not as skilled as SM, went through an extremely rigorous training process to ensure that they would be totally unfeeling, uncaring, painless soldiers. He hadn’t believed it at first, pointing out that despite what Chengcheng insisted he was, there was still the Cheng he knew deep inside him, all stable and warm and homey and everything Justin associated with him. But when he had to take out a duo of patrolling guards just to get into the building itself, he understood what Chengcheng had meant.

They were like robots. Robots who fought mechanically and systematically and who didn’t scream or cry out even as Justin sunk a knife into them. Robots who didn’t seem to feel anything even as Justin tore into them with his better skill. Robots who only fought for themselves and didn’t care even as their comrades fell around them.

Justin had gotten a small cut above his eyebrow and another one on his side. It seemed like despite his superior skill, strength, and speed, the JYP soldiers just wouldn’t go down. Justin had to stab one of them at least ten times before he sunk down to his knees, and the other had even fought back even with an eye pouring blood. 

Which brought him back to his current situation, and why he wasn’t willing to burst out and assassinate a group of soldiers like his original plan. Even if he was better trained, the sheer grit JYP soldiers had would be enough to overpower him if enough came at him at the same time. He would have to creep around and hopefully find some clues that would point to Chengcheng. 

He smiled. He could almost hear Zhengting’s panicked shriek in his ears from here, the way he would certainly freak out when he woke up and found out that Justin had just disappeared. He would probably be angry as well, if he wasn’t already too furious about the whole Chengcheng thing. Justin would have been scared about what would happen to him when he got back with Chengcheng if he wasn’t so focused on keeping himself as flat and still as possible on the side of a narrow hallway.

As the group of soldiers finally passed, he darted out of his crack and began to creep down the hall opposite to where they had gone. JYP floors were hard and polished, and Justin had to thank himself for choosing his light shoes instead of his sturdy, yet heavy boots. Boots with any sort of heel would clack too loudly against the floor, and point out his location in this place’s eerie silence. 

The silence was one part that creeped Justin out in this place. He had never been in a place this quiet before, much less seeing that this place had hundreds of people patrolling around or training. He wondered how far JYP was willing to turn their soldiers into totally unfeeling robots.

He got his answer as he turned the corner.

Maybe he would have screamed, if he hadn’t been too glazed over in horror. 

It was a hallway, with glass for walls. There were locks on the glass doors and a strange orange light shining down on everything. But that wasn’t the bad part. As Justin looked inside the glass chambers lining the sides, he saw boys and girls, some naked, some partially clothed, strung up or tied down to some form of torture. 

One boy was tied to a post and had his shirt torn away and back bloody like a piece of meat.

One girl was hung from the ceiling, sharp red lies criss crossing her naked torso and legs.

Another girl was lying on the floor, suspiciously still, with a mess of streaks and cuts decorating her skin.

He shivered in spite of himself. Was this how JYP turned their kids into the ice soldiers they were infamous for? Through punishment and public humiliation? By stringing them up when they failed as a symbol to the rest of them to never trust, never fail, never do anything stupid?

He walked by them, unable to look at their mutilated bodies and barely breathing forms, before exiting the hall up a flight of stairs. 

Now he knew why Chengcheng had been the ace. Chengcheng, who didn’t have a single mark on his entire body before meeting them, probably was the only one who never messed up, never got handed punishment. 

But being the only one who never got punished, the only one who had to always be perfect, and all the pressure and hate from the other agents that had to come with that didn’t seem like a better situation. He could imagine the intense pressure, the expectations, the tense and hateful atmosphere Chengcheng must have grown up with, with the bodies of his fellow agents strung up in his path every day to remind him that he must never become like them, and why he wanted to escape it so badly.

He knew that theoretically, Chengcheng must have been one of the unfeeling robots before he came to them; Zhengting certainly thought so, with how he tried to protect Chengcheng whenever he thought that he had suffered some sort of stress. But for some reason, he never thought he was anything but Chengcheng. Never some sort of blank slate, but always just a boy in his eyes. Not boy: a friend. A brother. Whatever it was. Chengcheng made him happy from the very first day they met, when he was bleeding to death on the outskirts of a ticking building, and how he snapped back at his insults and fought him even when he was almost dead. 

But he was also his rock. The thing he clung to when he needed to push himself more. He was the base to the house Zhengting and the rest of his family built, the thing that held him down when he pushed himself too far. Maybe it was because he was just as destroyed, just as messed up deep down. Someone who understood the world in the stark way it truly was too early just like him. Justin looked back on his past and saw the fingers and eyes of the priest who molested him each night, and Chengcheng saw his eight year old body standing over the remains of a giant. They both had been dragged too early into the world, never having had a chance to just  _ be _ what they were supposed to be. 

With Chengcheng, he could be what he wanted to be even with who he was. He could have fun and do stupid things and make his parents angry and relax in the only strained, twisted way they knew how. He leaned onto Chengcheng for stability, for warmth, for what he thought it meant to  _ live _ .

For  _ everything _ .

Which is why it was a split second decision for him to decide on what he had to do. He couldn’t sit back and watch Chengcheng be dragged back into whatever he was before. He wanted,  _ needed _ , the life him and Justin had finally molded out for themselves. And Justin did too.

He needed Chengcheng. And he was going to get him back.

With a start, he realized that he was walking aimlessly, without any care for his tread or prediction. Stupidly, he realized as well. He wasn’t paying enough attention to keeping himself hidden and actually focusing on a legitimate game plan.

He was on the second floor now, padding down a brightly lit hall, with sliding doors on the walls every ten feet or so. The floor was again eerily quiet, so much so that he could hear his own soft tread. 

He almost realized too late that it probably meant that everyone else was walking just as softly. 

They jumped him even before he could react. A trio of agents all attacked him at the same time as he reached a set of crossroads. He would have been floored if he didn’t spend half a decade dodging Zeren and Zhengting’s kicks. 

Just in time, Justin threw himself onto the side of a wall, just as the first of the agents slashed at him with his knife.

“Fucker.” he growled, launching himself back. He bent low and swung his legs at the one with the knife, and as he crashed to the floor, Justin raised his arm to defend himself against the other one who was coming at him. The second one bared down on him with some sort of heavy bar, and Justin would have had his skull cracked open if he didn’t roll out of the way. In a flash, he unsheathed the blades strapped along his wrists and dove back for them. 

The third one came at him too slow and all he got was a cut across the arm for his efforts. Justin kicked him hard in the chest, making sure that it was enough force to send him stumbling back to the opposite wall, before turning just in time to raise his blade against the first agent’s knife. They clanged each other, Justin baring down with his greater strength. He pressed down, almost pinning the agent to the ground, before feeling a blinding pain in his left shoulder.

He grit his teeth and with one hard twist, he flicked the blade in the first agent’s hand across the hall before rolling off him to the side to avoid the bar coming down on him again. It slammed down on the leg of the first agent, who screamed, hands going to his knee. In the second agent’s brief moment of confusion, Justin was upon him, grinding a blade into the back of his neck.

The man spluttered, red showering over the screaming first agent writhing on the ground, before tipping to the side, convulsing.

Justin diverted his attention to the third agent beginning to pick himself up again. He saw that he now had two knives, one in each hand, and in seconds, was charging at him. The man slammed into him, pressing him against the wall, and Justin barely moved his head aside in time to miss the blade sinking into the wall beside it. As the man raised his arm for another stab, he raised his knee and kicked him again hard in the crotch. The effect was instantaneous, and Justin had enough of a pause to raise his own arm and slash his throat. 

With two dying soldiers laying in a pool of their own blood, Justin dusted himself off. His shoulder felt like it was shit, and he could feel the swelling coming along. He was just lucky that it wasn’t broken or dislocated from the force of the pole, but he knew that any more exertion and it might just happen. It hurt too bad for him to move it too much anyways.

He turned to the final agent, still writhing on the ground, gasping from the pain from his broken knee. He knelt down to his level.

“Hey.” He used the voice that Quanzhe had said made him sound thirty, when he was in reality nothing else but just a teenager, “You okay?”

“Fucker-” the man snarled, before suddenly widening his eyes at how Justin was, in a flash, holding the knife against his throat.

“You have about 10 seconds to tell me if where the fuck Fan Chengcheng is, and how I get there, before I decide that one of your organs isn’t important anymore. Does an ear sound okay?”

The man didn’t even wait before answering, “No! No! Fan Chengcheng was Wu Yifan’s prisoner, and I don’t know where he brought him! I’m just a normal foot soldier.”

“Are you sure?” Justin traced the knife tantalizing along the man’s ear. The man shook from the feeling. “Any ideas to where he would be? And where this Yifan would be?”

“Yes! Yes! He’s probably just locked in his room on the fourth floor, where he lived when he was a kid. Try there. Yifan probably has the keycard to access the door and all the locks leading up to it. His office is just around the corner actually! Just turn left and keep going until you find it. Now, please,  _ please _ -”

Justin shut him up with a hard punch, and the man slumped back into the pool of blood. 

Turn left and down the hall, was it? This Wu Yifan was about to have the surprise of his life.

***

Justin crept beside the tall mahogany doors that apparently opened to Yifan’s office. The bodies of the guards lay around him, silenced with a knife in the back or a quick twist of the neck. His own shoulder was popping in and out of its socket, a dull throbbing emanating from its root. The cut on his side was beginning to stretch itself from the exertion, and he had a new shallow one across his knife arm. He wouldn’t last long for too long if he continued at this pace. Not to mention that someone would notice very soon the bodies of the three agents he had left behind, as well as those right around him guarding Yifan’s quarters.

He stared at the door, the fat lock on the handles. It would be easy to break, as long as he used the pistol tucked in the inside of her jacket. He placed his hand on the lump where it was tucked away.

Justin paused, frowning a little as he thought it out. He was decently injured now, and shooting the lock off the door would definitely immediately attract attention. He would have twenty minutes, max, to get the keycard from Yifan and bust open Chengcheng’s cell, and that was if he could hold out long enough too with his nearly dislocated arm and bleeding side.

But then again, he didn’t come here to mope around. If he wanted Chengcheng back, he was bound to have to take some chances. 

As a final preparation, he tore a sleeve off his hoodie and tightly bandaged his side. His jacket would be enough protection for his arm, and he would just have to grit his teeth for his shoulder.

Taking a deep breath, he raised the pistol at the lock, and pressed the trigger.

He didn’t wait for the bullet to finish tearing through the metal. Justin kicked open the door as soon as he finished with the gun, and raised his pistol up at whoever was inside. 

A man, a tall man with sharp blond hair and deep eyebrows and an ugly leer. An incredibly handsome man but also one that exuded such a natural ugliness around him that Justin felt his hands clutch around his gun. A man with a pistol pointed directly back at him.

He stared at him, up at his tall height, and inwardly felt himself cringe that this was the man Zhengting had to seduce for weeks on end. He was hot enough to be a model, but the smirk around his lips was so strange and greedy, he had to lurch.

Yifan stared back, mouth curling up into a wider smirk, eyes grazing his figure up and down. 

Justin spoke first, aware that his time was ticking down, “Where is Chengcheng?”

“Fan Chengcheng? Why don’t we talk about you here first?” He ran another look down his body, “Are you one of Zhu Zhengting’s little children as well?”

Justin clenched the gun a little tighter, “Cut the bullshit. Give me the keycard to Chengcheng’s cell.”

Yifan laughed, “I have a gun pointed right at you, little boy. I’m not at risk here.”

“There’s gonna be a bullet in your skull if you don’t tell me where it is.”

Yifan tutted, “You’d have one too inside you as well.”

They stared at each other, guns not moving, until Yifan smirked again. “Damn, what is with Zhu Zhengting and his little family? I’d take any of you to share my bed. Zhengting was gorgeous, I have to say, but I didn’t know just how pretty the ‘Pretty Boys Group’ was until I saw his other friends. Fan Chengcheng is a handsome one as well; shame I can’t put my hands on him.” He tilted his head at Justin’s unblinking eyes, “You’re a young one, aren’t you? You’re so pretty already, even if you are a child.” He took a step forward, “I like the young, pretty ones. No wonder Bingbing was so interested in you when I showed her a picture of you. Huang Minghao, wasn’t it?”

Justin felt the time slipping away through his fingertips. If he was going to do anything, he would have to do it now.

Yifan’s voice cut through his thoughts, “Fan Chengcheng was so angry when Bingbing told him what she was going to do to you. I hope she realizes that that boy will never be on her side.” He smirked one last time, “I hope she gives him to me when she decides he’s not worth it.”

Justin was shooting even before Yifan could finish. He threw himself out of the way even as he pressed down on the trigger, just as he realized Yifan was doing the same. 

Yifan’s shot tore through him as he flattened himself on the ground, the pain barely recognizable over the rapid beating of his heart. Somewhere away from him, he heard the sickening thunk as his own bullet met his target, and he pushed himself up despite the numbing feeling suddenly spread all throughout his body.

He climbed over to where Yifan was gasping, bullet in his chest. 

“Fucker.” He snarled, pressing the butt of the gun against his head, “Chengcheng’ll never be yours, you nasty son of a bitch. This is for taking him and Zhengting away from me.” 

“I-” Yifan was dead before he could finish.

Justin sat beside him for a moment longer, watching the splatter of red against the tiling and the gush of blood from his own shoulder. 

Maybe it was the thrill of a recent kill. Maybe it was the blood loss from his shoulder and his side. Maybe it was the dull pain throbbing everywhere in his body. Justin’s vision twisted upon itself, and he had to grit his teeth to pick himself back up. His arm hung limp by his side and the gun clattered to the floor. He wouldn’t have time to patch up the bullet wound if he wanted to get there in time. 

Quickly, with the arm with the dislocated shoulder, he rummaged through Yifan’s clothing. He felt a card in the front breast pocket, and slid it out just as he heard the patter of feet outside the door.

He couldn’t wait. He tore outside the door, with no gun and just a simple blade, and raced up the stairs one of the agents he killed had told him led to Chengcheng’s place.

Everything sank around him, falling to the bottomless floor before exploding into blood and blood and red and more blood. It’s all slippery, and it seems to twist on itself even before Justin can get a foot on it. 

There are still agents, of course. Justin throws his knives at them and they sink into their backs, their chests, their heads. There are other things too that fall into his own body, painting his tracks with a smear of red, but he can’t seem to feel them. They just add onto the twisting madness that seems to have become his vision.

Then.

Chengcheng. 

Chengcheng is there, in front of him. Justin can’t seem to remember pulling out the keycard, or having anything to do with the bodies all around him. He’s manic, one of his eyes is blurred by a torrent of blood coming down from a cut he doesn’t remember getting, but there’s Chengcheng. He’s right in front of him and he’s so safe and so safe and so safe that Justin can’t feel anything but the stability he brings, that he’s always brought for him.

He falls into his arms, just as everything seems to explode at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god, justin you had to do something dumb, didn't you.
> 
> good bye nine percent. i loved you and i will always love you.


	44. Chengcheng

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god justin

Chengcheng stared as Justin collapsed into his arms.

The blood soaked through his own sweater in seconds, and it was only until it reached his skin that he realized what was happening.

“Justin.” he said, pulling him upright. Justin’s head flopped back in where he held him up in his arms, blond hair splattered with blood. “Justin!”

He didn’t answer, and as Chengcheng ran his eyes down his body, he realized why.

A bullet wound in his shoulder. One under his ribs. Another one in his stomach. A slash across his waist crudely bandaged up with an arm of a hoodie. A long gash across his forehead. As Chengcheng shifted him, he saw the odd twist of his shoulder, and knew that he had a dislocated shoulder as well.

“Fuck.” he breathed, as the scent of the blood hit him all at once, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

His mind buzzed. Why the fuck was Justin here? How did he get here so quickly? Why did they send him here alone and seemingly without backup?

“God fucking dammit, Justin!” He shook him hard, “Huang Minghao!” 

He didn’t move, and Chengcheng pressed his head down to his chest, unable to stop himself. His ear squished against his drenched shirt, but he could hear the faint, weak beat of his heart and that was okay.

His face was dripping blood when it left Justin’s chest. His shoulder was still gushing, and Chengcheng cursed himself for not reacting faster. He dragged Justin’s limp form over to his bed, laying him down before tearing open the doors to his closet.

His mother and father would kill him if they saw what he was doing to his expensive clothing, but he couldn’t care less. He found a blade in Justin’s jacket and used it to cut his shirts into strips. He looped them around Justin’s injuries the best he could, desperately thinking to how Wenjun patched them up after missions. He had never seen Wenjun have to patch up that many wounds though, much less three bullet holes, gashes all over, and a dislocated shoulder.

He slung Justin over his shoulder as soon as he was done, pulling him into a thick winter coat in the process. It was summer, so he would steam in it for sure, but it was a better alternative than to get another knife or gash in the back. If he was going to keep Justin safe, and take the chance he gave them, he would have to leave now.

Chengcheng’s eyes widened as he stepped outside the door. The stench of blood was even stronger here, with the slumped over guards scattered across the floor. He tightened his grip around Justin’s waist.

“Christ, Justin.” he whispered, “What the fuck?”

It looked like a blood bath. There had to be at least ten guards already dead and five more wallowing in the pool of red smeared all along the floor. The way they were lying around was crude, and so were the way they were killed. They looked like a mad man had torn into them, slashing and ripping them apart with brute strength and a dull blade.

If Justin had done that to them, just how badly was he beat up?

Justin was limp, dead to the world, but he didn’t have time to think about that. What mattered now was to get him to safety, and to get the fuck out of this place before more guards could come and kill him. 

He took off running in the direction of the nearest exit. A trail of blood seemed to lead him, and with a jolt, Chengcheng realized that it was probably Justin’s blood from before. Justin’s blood was seeping through the crude bandages he had wrapped around him and was now leaking generously into his own shirt, but he didn’t have time. All he had to do was follow the trail of blood and figure out which entrance Justin had come in from. 

“This stupid fucking kid.” he growled. It was evident by this point that he hadn’t brought any back up to JYP. Just stormed in alone and cleared a path for himself by the way the bodies were littered along the halls. Justin wasn’t happy when Chengcheng had to leave to get Zhengting back, but he had kept quiet through most of the planning. He had thought that Justin understood, and he probably did. Just somewhere in his  _ stupid _ brain did he think that coming to grab him was a good idea.

But at the same time, a rush of a feeling he didn’t understand purged through his head and down into his toes. Justin had came for him, even if it meant storming the place. He had taken a fucking bullet for Chengcheng, and while it made him fume with anger at the sheer stupidity of the boy, he felt something else instead.

Gratitude? Some of it was that, yes. Relief? Happiness? Sadness?

They all mixed together in his boiling mind, and Chengcheng couldn’t understand it. All he knew was that Justin had stepped in again and had saved him  _ again _ . The rest of his coherent thoughts were dominated with worry and anger.

Luckily for him, he didn’t have to think about his confusing emotions, because what he saw at the bottom of the stairs to his floor incited one specific feeling he knew for sure.

“Bingbing.” he growled, “Get the fuck out of my way if you know what’s good for you.”

Bingbing smiled, “I’m your older sister, Chengcheng. You need to get back into your room if you don’t want to get into trouble.”

Chengcheng pulled out the knife he had gotten from Justin. Bingbing watched the movement of his hands, amusement spreading across her face. 

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Chengcheng saw her hand creep towards the gun strapped on her leg. “You don’t want to force me to shoot you to get you to stay in line.”

“I said. Get. The. Fuck. Away.” He pressed closer to her. The gun was up in less than a second.

“No, no, no.” She cooed, pistol aimed at his face, “I meant it. Stay still, Chengcheng.” Chengcheng watched as her eyes drifted to the boy slung across his shoulder, “Now who could that be? He did a pretty good job of taking out an entire wing of agents and even blasting Yifan’s head into mush. Talented boy, isn’t he? Who is he?”

Chengcheng stood there, biting his cheek. The blood was seeping faster from Justin now, and he could feel the heat smear across his shirt. He didn’t have too much time now. 

“Bingbing. I might have to kill you if you don’t move out of the way. And you know that we both don’t want that.” The blood ran down his back, and he grit his teeth thinking of the position Justin was in. Without tearing his eyes away from his older sister’s he gently lowered Justin into carrying him bridal style. Bingbing’s eyes shone with glee.

“Ah! Is this Huang Minghao? The little boy we were talking about before! He came all the way here just to grab you, Chengcheng? That’s adorable.”

“Fucking-”

“Now I really do need to get you back. I could use this boy. I didn’t know that your little friends were  _ this _ good, with how he can single handedly destroy a team of our agents.” She smiled, “And just as cute as the pictures showed.”

Chengcheng’s blood boiled. 

“Do you like him, Chengcheng? Does he like you? He has to at least a little if he’s willing to be shot up that badly to get to you. Would you be mad if I borrowed him for a night?”

Then suddenly, she’s firing, and Chengcheng is diving out of the way. He puts his arm just in time to catch him and Justin, and the force of his impact sends a shock of pain up his shoulder. The bullet grazed his hip as he flattened out, but that’s nothing compared to the fresh spurt of blood suddenly blooming over Justin’s stomach from the sudden movement. He turns, snarling, back at Bingbing.

She reloading her gun, and Chengcheng knows that he’s not going to avoid the next bullet. He throws his knife then, almost like an instinct, thinking of nothing but what could happen to the bloody boy draped in his arms.

It hits her, in the center of her chest, exactly where Chengcheng meant it to hit. He was the ace of JYP for his perfect aim, and even in a moment like this, he can prove why he was better than her, is still better than her, why she hated him so much after he started training. 

Bingbing stares at him, hands loosely gripping the gun, as if she was genuinely surprised he would actually do what he had just did. Then, she falls.

She hits the floor with a gentle thud, still breathing, eyes staring incomprehensibly at the ceiling. Her chest rises, but just barely, and in all sense Chengcheng should care, should care a lot that his older sister is barely breathing. 

But he doesn’t. What he cares about is the rise and fall of the boy in his arms. How he can’t seem to feel a pulse against his skin anymore. How his blood has now soaked through the stupid bandages and is smearing generously onto Chengcheng’s hands. Justin’s pale now, the only red on his skin coming from the holes in his body, and nothing. There is nothing in the entire goddamn world that is worth the fear rippling suddenly through his own body.

Chengcheng doesn’t even look at Bingbing when he runs past her, but maybe he should have. Maybe he should have stolen one last glance at his past, at his family, at the person who shares part of his identity and part of his genes. He doesn’t though, eyes too busy trained on Justin’s pale neck, how a trail of blood has made its way into the crook of his collar and is mixing with that of his shoulder wound. 

He’s strange like this, he thinks, as he bursts through the halls. So tranquil and quiet and peaceful, so different from the hyper, reckless Justin he spends each day with. So dangerous, so detached, so wounded.

There is nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing in the entire world that is more important than to bring him to safety.

He kills another agent on the way to the exit Justin must have come in from, just stabs him as he’s coming for him with his own knife. His hand is cut afterwards, a long streak of red running across the palm from where he grabbed the blade, but he doesn’t feel it, and even if he did, he doesn’t care.

Was Justin always this cold, this limp, this soft? When he hugged Chengcheng it didn’t feel like that; Justin was all hard muscle, hot breath, and bony knuckles. He wasn’t this slippery, never this gentle, never this quiet. 

He feels, Chengcheng realizes, as he finally bursts out of the building, like he’s slipping away. Like he’s becoming what Justin wasn’t supposed to be. Like he’s  _ dying _ .

A motorcycle appears somewhere in front of him, and he recognizes it as the one Yanchen takes when he wants to do something reckless, or just when he wants to do something fun. He slings his leg over it, before suddenly remembering Bingbing’s threat.

JYP was sure to hit back at the Retributation now that he had basically killed Bingbing, and now that Justin had apparently killed Yifan. His own parents would be enraged, and he couldn’t blame them. They would come to attack full force at the perfect time, and he wasn’t sure if a group of around thirty agents could defend against them.

But then, he looked down at Justin’s pale face and the blood staining his clothing and realized, anything was worth it if he could get him home. 

He sat as far back as he could so that he could slump Justin against the handlebars. He would have liked to just lay him across the seat, but he doubted he would be able to keep him on for too long, and his stomach wound would just get worse.

At least he wouldn’t feel the pain of the rough ride a motorcycle could bring.

As Chengcheng pressed down on the pedal, and he shot out of the dirt clearing it was parked in, he felt the wind whip at his face. He had put the only helmet on Justin’s head, even if it would be stained with the blood from his head wound, and as a result, his hair flew free behind him as dirt and bugs slapped him in his face.

He knew his own leg was pouring blood now, a chunk of flesh missing from where Bingbing’s bullet had grazed him. But Justin was still out, still so pale, so bloody and it didn’t seem like anything else mattered.

Justin had fucking saved him again, and this time, Chengcheng couldn’t be sure of at what price. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god chengcheng


	45. Linong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> npc concert tonight!! ty npc for all the memories, and i hope the concert goes amazing. i love u

At this point, Linong thought, it was all about luck.

It’s been a couple hours since Zhengting woke up and single-handedly took out some of the most skilled agents of the Retributation, slamming Xukun to the floor so hard, Linong and Jeffrey heard it from the kitchen and came running. Even less since Yanchen realized that he couldn’t find Justin anywhere. Even less him, Yanchen, Zeren, Zhengting, and Xingjie left on a rescue mission, despite not knowing where JYP, the place he had surely gone, was. Even less since they finally saw a cloud of dust in the distance that eventually cleared to reveal Chengcheng, somehow, on Yanchen’s old motorbike.

And even less since they realized that Justin was barely alive, with three bullet holes in him, an oddly twisted shoulder, and more gashes than they could count. Zhengting had nearly gone hysterical again, but Linong silently motioned to him the expression on Chengcheng’s face, and his beautifully terrified features quickly glazed over to an eerie calmness.

Linong didn’t need to ask, nor did he want to ask, how Justin got those injuries. One look at Chengcheng and he could tell exactly what they all should have known Justin would do; he had probably tailed Chengcheng’s car and broke him out of JYP even before Zhengting woke up. The results weren’t pretty: with so much blood drenching the fabric of his and Chengcheng’s clothing, Linong knew that if he didn’t get a blood transfusion sometime soon, he wouldn’t wake up at all from whatever unconsciousness he was in.

They brought them back to the base quickly and efficiently, with virtually no one saying a single word. Watching him, Linong could see again Zhengting’s sense of protection to the rest of his little group. He kept his composure, even if he could tell it was cracking at the very edges, and the entire time, kept one hand clenched tightly around Chengcheng’s frozen wrist and the other gently threading through Justin’s yellow-stained-red hair. 

Once they got to the medical wing, it wasn’t as quiet. Mubo and Fen roared to keep everyone quiet, and Quanzhe threw a fit at the front of the door to go in. Linong was stationed in front of the medical wing doors to keep any visitors out during the medics’ frantic mission of trying to keep Justin alive, and he nearly got a black eye just from Zeren alone trying to get in. 

But then, two hours later, it was done, and Justin lay quiet and bandaged on a bed.

Zhengting was sitting quietly on a chair beside him, face and arms pale from donating so much blood. Chengcheng stood a little farther away, as if he was afraid of the unconscious boy in the bed, and his icy features and expression made Linong think that he wasn’t as unaffected as he thought.

He stood in a corner, leaning against the wall, as all of Zhengting’s little group filtered in and gathered around him.

They really are a family, Linong thinks. Zhengting is the closest to Justin’s still form, both hands desperately clutching one of Justin’s. Xinchun is hugging Quanzhe, staring at the bed as Quanzhe sniffles into his chest. Zeren is pretending to look tough and unbothered-- Linong can tell-- with the way he stands, awkwardly and with fists clenched too tight by his side. Chengcheng is still just as cold, just as stony, just as quiet, sitting in that chair, not even moving, just watching everything. And Wenjun is there, with his tall frame and beautiful features twisted in tranquil concern, gently placing both hands on Chengcheng’s shoulders, flickering to and from them, as if he was afraid touching him too long would break him. He can see the dynamic there, the sense of family. The bonds between them are so clear and so strong at a moment like this, Linong knows for certain that Zhengting doesn’t regret leaving SM at single bit from his spot in the corner of the room, even if it tore him and Xukun apart.

It makes him ache, almost, for his own family. His own support system, apart from Yanjun and Zhangjing. They are the most important people to him, and so is the rest of the Retributation. But inside of him there’s a voice whispering for more, for something more that he can’t silence. 

For now, he stares at them, at their huddled bodies and listening in on the beeping of the machine that ties Justin to life, feeling their tension, their worry all seep into the air around them. Wenjun, ever perceptive, ever understanding Wenjun, looks up, and for a moment, he looks into his eyes. 

Linong is good at reading people, he can say that much. With his natural knack at figuring out what people are thinking and with a boost of years of training in exactly how to pinpoint thoughts, he’s become quite good. So when Wenjun looks at him, he can see immediately, the grief and _fear_ reflecting off his eyes. Wenjun has beautiful eyes, really. All dark pupils and almond eyes. A mole at the corner of his right eye. It just makes the glassy emotion in them stand out even more.

“Zhengting.” Mubo says from somewhere to his left. Linong tears his eyes away from the little group in time to see him step into the room. Mubo has always been handsome as well, even if years of trying to resuscitate them and patch up their wounds has carved out wrinkles by his eyes and on the bridge of his nose. “Zhengting, we need to talk.”

Qin Fen is by him in a second, and he looks too worried. He looks younger with this expression, thick lips opened slightly, and Linong remembers that he’s only in his late twenties. They’re all young, too young really, and somehow dealing with shit like this that seems too grand for a group of teenagers to tackle, even if they have spent the majority of their lives firing bullets and cracking skulls. 

“Yes?” Zhengting says softly, expectantly. He’s beautiful as well, with his deadly sparkling doe eyes and almost perfectly symmetrical face. It’s no wonder Xukun wanted him so badly from first view, Linong knows the stories. It’s almost amusing how a boy with a face like that, prettier than any girl he knows, is the same one that was named the Ace of SM agency, ripping out people’s throats with his brilliantly fast and deadly dance. But for now, he’s all soft.

“Maybe I should tell you alone.” Mubo replies, glancing nervously over to them. Linong knows the response even before he finishes speaking. 

“No. Tell us together or don’t tell us. We’re not babies.” Zeren growls, face gaining a new shadow. His golden skin shines under the light as he flexes his muscles, and Linong has to remind himself that this is the short, bony, hard-headed boy that came to the agency with a loose mouth and a bloodied fist.

Mubo still looks uncertain, but Qin Fen puts a hand on his waist, and there’s an agreement between them. They’ve been together long enough to know what they mean at the moment, and Linong only knows as well because he’s good at reading this kind of stuff.

“We think Justin is in a coma.” he says carefully, and even though it’s as gentle as it could be, Linong can see the effect of his words hit the rest of them like a ton of bricks.

Zhengting’s face morphs first, twisting on itself like he can’t understand, or probably, accept what he’s just said. But just as quickly, it untwists itself back to a generally controlled mask, even if it is cracking at the corners. Linong sees his hands though, they clench hard around Justin’s and his fingers are almost immediately shaking even if he isn’t aware of it himself. He holds himself together though, and it’s good because the rest of them don’t.

Quanzhe moves, roughly pushing past Xinchun and bolting out the door. He holds his arm to his face, as if he doesn’t want the rest of them to hear the strangled sob that tears out his throat. Xinchun looks torn, eyes darting to and from Justin’s bed and Quanzhe’s running form, before brashly pushing himself up and taking off after the silver haired boy. Linong can tell that he doesn’t want to be around for what Mubo might say next, his eyes already steamy and red rimmed. Zeren looks horrified, mouth slightly parted, the rest of his body frozen. He doesn’t seem to know what to say or how to react. Wenjun face is generally unchanged, but there’s a quiver in his beautiful eyes that Linong knows is even worse.

And Chengcheng, Chengcheng is terrifying. He stiffens up at the words, entire body going taut. He’s so tight and tense, his legs are shaking from the exersion, making blood seep through the white bandage wrapped around his calf.

Zeren speaks, “What the fuck do you mean?”

“He’s in a coma.” Mubo repeats, albeit a little gingerly, “He lost too much blood. It’s a miracle that he’s even alive.”

“Didn’t Zhengting give him blood?” Wenjun asks, voice cracking at the ends. Linong can see how tightly he’s gripping onto Chengcheng’s shoulders, the stress from having to keep himself calm like usual. 

“Giving him blood saved his life, but it doesn’t account for how much bled out of him in the first place.” Qin Fen pauses on the edge of his sentence, looking at them all, like he’s afraid to go on. And maybe he is. From Linong’s spot in the corner, he might as well have been, with the way Zhengting is looking at him. He’s not scary like he was when he had just woken up, when he beat Xukun up even with both of his beaten legs, but there’s a certain fragile delicacy in his eyes that plead with them to not say anything more. Like he can’t bear to hear it. He’s still pale, one sleeve rolled up from where they stuck a needle into him to collect his blood, thankfully type O, to pump into Justin. But even though he’s a physical wonder-- with how he’s able to donate blood, stay up like this for so long, _and_ single-handedly take down Yanchen, Xingjie, Ziyi, and Xukun even when partially disabled-- there’s only so much even the strongest can take. 

“Get some rest, okay?” Mubo says gently, and he walks softly out the door with Qin Fen’s arm around his waist.

Linong sees that as his cue to leave as well. He walks over to the motionless little group huddled around Justin’s bed, and gently places a hand on Zhengting’s shoulder. He doesn’t move at the feeling, but Linong gives it a little squeeze before he’s letting go. 

He doesn’t look at any of them when he pads out of the door.

***

Times like these confuse Linong, and he never seems to know where to go. 

He pads up the hallway even before he knows he’s doing, feet mindlessly gliding over the floor as if he was purposely putting distance between himself and the situation inside of the medical wing. He might as well have been, with the way his heart is clenching in his chest and how sweaty his palms have become.

Justin. In a coma.

The situation was bad enough as is, but it only seemed to be worse when Linong thought of the reactions of the rest of his little group, the way all of them had recoiled in their own way, and the shining emotion in Zhengting’s glossy eyes. Chengcheng’s totally stiff reaction was bad as well; Linong’s chest ached when he thought of the guilt the boy must be going through, especially since him and Justin seemed to be glued at the hip and Justin had literally gotten so badly injured just to save him. 

  
  


Linong is scared that he won’t at all, but he can’t think of that idea for too long before his chest clenches up on himself.

He’s also scared of the consequences. He knows that JYP won’t let this escape pass too easily, and will surely send some huge effort to destroy them completely. And based on how badly Justin was beat up, and Chengcheng’s stiff form, he can only imagine what that would entail. The Retributation is his home, and he can’t bear the thought of it being taken away.

But he’s also scared about what it will mean for the other agents. How badly Xukun will beat himself up for it, even if he couldn’t have seen it coming. How it’s going to mess Zhengting up, even more than his anger towards the rest of them for exchanging him for Chengcheng. How Mubo will work until he stresses himself out for thinking that he didn’t do a good enough job, that his medical skills weren’t enough to save him completely.

And Zhangjing. Linong is afraid of how Zhangjing will react to the news.

Of course, being the ever caring, sweet Zhangjing he always is, even if he’s still healing himself and even if he beats himself up for the inner demons that Linong knows torments him, he’s still walking down the hall, feet quickening as he comes closer. Linong watches as he comes nearer, face set and passionless.

“Oh god. I just heard the news. Is he okay?” Zhangjing gasps, and Linong doesn’t know how to answer his expectant, worried face. He looks slightly behind him, where Yanjun is standing. Their eyes meet, and Linong sees the dangerous gaze he only has in his eyes before a kill or when he’s extremely tense or angry. He can’t tell which of the two it is, but he gets the message.

“He’s alive.” he says, gazing unsurely down, “He’s not awake yet, but he will be when he’s ready. Don’t go see him yet; I think Zhengting wants a moment alone with him.”

Zhangjing’s face drains of the little colour it’s had in weeks. “Do you _know_ when he’ll be awake?”

“No.” he admits, carefully watching him, “We don’t know for now, but we can only hope.”

Zhangjing pauses for a moment before nodding his head. Linong can see his skin under this light, still sallow and drooping, his entire physique too thin and too delicate, but at the same time, he doesn’t seem to be crumbling down. Zhangjing is strong, Linong knows, but most when it comes to keeping strong for other people. He’s always respected that about him, with how he stayed up for years helping Linong get to sleep. He still worries about him, about all of them, and all Linong hopes at this point is that he won’t tear himself up internally, blaming himself for what happened. That he _is_ prone to.

“Okay.” he says, before peeking down the hall, “You’re right. I guess we’ll leave then.” He turns back to Yanjun, who still looks impassive, even though the twitch at the corner of his mouth is enough to tell Linong that he too isn’t taking the news too lightly. “Come on.”

Yanjun nods, not saying a single word. 

“Do you wanna come with us? We’ll probably go check up on Jeffrey and Xiao Gui.” Zhangjing asks, and Linong has to jerk himself out of his trance at staring at Yanjun’s face.

“Me? Ah, no. Don’t worry. I think I’ll stick around here and keep an eye on them. You know. Just in case.”

Zhangjing nods, and they leave.

It’s the truth, Linong thinks, just not the whole truth. He didn’t tell him about the softness in Yanjun’s eyes he only reserves for Zhangjing. He didn’t say anything about Yanjun looking at nothing but him. Linong is good at reading people, and he knows that his best friend is feeling something, even if he doesn’t know what it is himself. 

He didn’t say anything about not feeling like he would fit in with them again. 

So he stands there, awkwardly, leaning against the wall more for effect than actual comfort, thinking, unsure where to move.

A clack made him spin around.

It seemed to him that, these days, Bi Wenjun seemed to be everywhere for him. At night when he made his nightly walks, he was always keen enough to catch when. They always seemed to zone out at the same time at lunch and smile at each other when their friends got too rowdy. After whatever job he had to go on that day, he was always there in the medical centre to help him patch up. And now, he’s gently shutting the medical wing doors behind him, eyes trained on Linong’s face.

He walks over, eyes not wavering from Linong’s face. It’s like how he stared down Zhengting, Linong thinks again, how he kept his ground against all of them even if he wasn’t an agent himself. Linong stares back.

“What are you up to?” he asks, a little dazed.

“I was going to get Chengcheng some food. He’s barely eaten since he left for JYP, a couple days ago.” he looks at Linong a little expectantly, but when he doesn’t say anything, he continues, “I was going to go to the kitchen.”

“Oh.” 

Wenjun waits a moment more, before making the motion to leave. 

“Could I come?” he blurts out, and immediately, he’s worried. Wenjun probably wants some time alone. He probably needs a second to compose himself, and honestly, this is Wenjun’s family he needs to care for, not Linong’s. Wenjun spends enough time with Linong as is anyways, so-

“I was hoping you’d ask that.” he smiles, “Chengcheng eats a lot. It’s nice to have someone carry stuff with you.”

Linong joins his pacing. “I can see that.”

“Chengcheng really likes crunchy stuff. Like cheese puffs and chips. Or maybe cereal. Do you know what types of cereal there are in the pantry?”

“Not sure.” he says, feeling a little bewildered, “Ziyi and Jeffrey went grocery shopping a bit ago so there might not be a lot of options.” It seems strange that they’re talking about what snack to get Chengcheng when the world seems to have fallen through the ground. 

“When I went shopping, I used to always try to bring back a new box.” he muses quietly. He pauses, as if to recollect the memory, and Linong watches the slight furrow of his brows as he remembers choosing each box on whatever shopping trip he might have been on, “Chengcheng and Justin went through a box every couple of days, and they liked when I brought back some weird new flavour for them to try out.” Wenjun stops again, hands slightly tighter than before. “He’d probably like something like that right now.”

Linong lets them move a bit farther down the hall before speaking, “I’m sorry Wenjun.”

“Don’t be.” Wenjun smiles at him, “I should have expected this. Justin’s always been the most reckless out of all of us, even more than Zeren. We spent years trying to get him under control, but he always snuck out. It just got crazier when Chengcheng came. Sort of like his partner in crime.” He stops, and the next couple of words seem more for himself than to Linong. “I should have known he would go grab him.”

“Justin and Chengcheng seem really close.”

“Yeah. They are. Did you know, Justin actually saved Chengcheng’s life when he first met him? Chengcheng was betrayed by his old friends at JYP, and basically was dumped in a ditch to bleed to death, just outside of the mansion Justin was going to storm that day-- without me or Zhengting’s permission of course, that kid-- but thank god he went. Justin got to him just in time and carried him back to the place we were staying at.”

“I’d feel pretty close to the person who saved me as well.”

“Mmm. But they’re even closer than you would expect. I don’t think Chengcheng would have even stayed with us if Justin wasn’t there; they have so much fun together, and they trust each other so much, even if they’re always fighting. It’s nice, I think, having that sort of reliance when you’re that young. I’m glad I have them at least.”

“Chengcheng looks like he’s pretty… affected.”

“Yes. He does.” Linong watches as Wenjun folds his hands over each other, long fingers overlapping each other. Wenjun has pretty hands, thin fingers and trimmed nails. They’re exactly the opposite from what an agent like himself might have, with all the pretty shapes and soft skin. The only thing that might reveal what kind of life he was living was the pattern of small scars, thin and even, running over his knuckles. Years of mishaps with a surgical knife. “Chengcheng sees Justin as some sort of brother at the very least. Family, you know. He didn’t really have one growing up, just like the rest of us. Just his parents and sister were even worse than not having one at all. He’s a lot more sensitive than he likes to admit, but you would never guess it, right? I’ve never seen Chengcheng cry. Not even once. I hope he won’t beat himself up too hard.”

They’re at the doorway to the kitchen, and Linong stops just before they go in. “Are _you_ beating yourself up?”

Wenjun smiles, “I feel like I should be, to be honest, but I won’t. They need me.” 

Linong stares into his eyes, the hard determination under the layer of steamy film over his brown eyes. Wenjun’s eyes are deep, deep brown, almost black, with small flakes of gold on the edges. He’s never really looked right into them, with most of the time they actually talk being in the middle of the night, when the rooms are so dark Linong can barely distinguish his tall frame, much less the colour and shape of his eyes. They’re splattered with streaks of red from those sleepless nights, as Wenjun watches Linong finally submit himself to sleep. He’s so tough, Linong thinks, so strong and so selfless even if he won’t kill someone or raid a brothel.

“You’re really selfless, you know.” he says to his eyes.

They crinkle a bit at the edges, even if the centers of them are sad. “You are too. You’re so perceptive, Linong, I’m sure you know that.”

“Me.”

“You’re always watching everyone, and I’m sure you can notice the smallest things. You always have this look like you understand everyone, and can tell right away what people are thinking.”

“I mean, it’s my job.”

“Yes, but you really care about all the details anyways, right? You really care about whether or not we’re happy, all of our relationships, what might happen if something else happens. It’s why you won’t go ask Zhangjing or Yanjun or anyone else to help you sleep right? And why you’re letting me talk to you now?”

Linong is speechless.

“You’re a better person than you think, okay?”

Wenjun ruffles Linong’s hair, brows slightly furrowed even if his mouth is smiling. Linong watches his face through the bangs suddenly in his vision, the line of his mouth and the glassy look in his eyes.

“Let’s go get Chengcheng some food.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love linong and wenjun. next chapter might take a little longer, so sit tight.


	46. Zhengting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just one more chapter of reflection and big thinking, then i promise itll be more plot

Zhengting stares at Justin’s limp body in the medical bed.

There’s a soft white comforter wrapped around his lower body, covering up the gashes and shallow stab wounds on his lower abdomen and legs. But his upper body is still exposed, wrapped in layers of clean white linen bandages that cover up the thick dressings pressed into his bullet wounds and deeper gashes. One of his shoulders is strapped in some sort of metal and wood splint, holding his dislocated shoulder in his body. 

He reaches out a hand and smoothes over the bandage across his forehead, the stitches hidden underneath. Justin looks almost peaceful like this, eyelids gently closed, chest barely rising up and down. His grip is loose and there isn’t a bark in his every word. He’s peaceful, quiet, subdued.

And Zhengting hates it.

His kid, his  _ baby _ Huang Minghao. Submerged in a coma. Dead to the world for who knows how long. The more he thinks of it the more it seems to hurt, the more his heart seems to be tearing itself apart that he failed to keep one of his kids out of trouble, and now, even to keep them alive. He failed in keeping him safe. In keeping them all safe.

He wants to cry again, curl up into a ball or even better, scream and tear someone else apart, but he’s done enough of that today. Instead, he runs his hands over the scabbed and now bandaged knuckles of the unconscious boy in the bed and speaks, more so to the medical blankets than to the actual subject.

“Zeren? Could you give me a minute? I need to ask Chengcheng some things.” 

Zeren himself seems too enraptured, too deeply concentrated with staring at Justin’s form, and Zhengting has to repeat himself before he gives himself a shake and straightening up again.

“Okay.” Zhengting knows that he’s biting the inside of his cheek, hard, just from the slight lilt at the beginning of his words. Zeren spins and walks away, each step unique and loud in it’s own way, the clack of his foot against the ground unforgiving and unjustified. Zhengting sucks it in, let's all the shock and anger from his kid seep into him, and it isn’t until the door to the medical wing clangs shut that he allows himself to tear his eyes away from his retreating form. Zeren is strong, and he’s not weepy or sensitive like some of his other kids, even if he’s a lot more soft than he’d like to admit. But he’s okay for now, at least based on what Zhengting has seen; Wenjun and hopefully Yanchen can take care of him. For now, he needs to focus on someone else.

Zhengting turns in his chair to look at Chengcheng. The boy has still not torn his eyes away from Justin. His eyes are large and placid. Expressionless. Emotionless. His icy blond hair is greasy and still stained with blood, much like the rest of him, and his leg is still seeping blood, even out of the tight bandage wrapped around it, from how tight he’s holding himself. His lips are too tightly pressed together, chapped and bloody, and they’re white at the edges from biting on them for so long. Zhengting looks down, and his inner protectiveness surges into him from the inside out at the sight of his hands, mangled and scabbed, bruised all over. He wants to reach over and grab his hands and wrap them up, put ointment on them, kiss them, anything. But he feels the pregnant silence in the air and he doesn’t.

Chengcheng, now that everyone else has been sent out the room, is what Zhengting has always known. He’s overgrown, too thin in some places, too soft in others. He’s bruised and calloused and has eyes with too much white at the edges. He’s pale, and when he reaches up, Zhengting can see the two moles near his adam’s apple. He’s very simply, just a boy. Just a boy like the rest of them, even if he can shoot the eye out of a man from fifty feet away and can break someone’s fingers with just one hand. 

He’s just a boy who had to grow up too fast, and Zhengting is reminded of that when he finally looks up. 

Chengcheng looks unsure almost, stretched too tight and containing too many emotions. It’s the result of his upbringing, his rule to never show any weakness or hurt. He looks into Zhengting’s eyes, his lips part just the slightest, showing the tips of his teeth. 

Then, it all shatters.

Zhengting can see it in his eyes first, the sudden ripple of emotion that floods over them that he doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. Then, actual physical emotion wells up, almost out of nowhere, too fast and too damaging.

“Zhengting.” he pleads just for a second, before collapsing into his waiting arms.

Chengcheng cries for the first time Zhengting has ever known him. He sobs louder than he intends, the jarring sounds ricocheting off the walls and stabbing into his ears. He cries, Zhengting realizes, like a child. All innocent gasping and runny nose, harsh cries fresh at the back of his throat. 

Zhengting holds him as he sobs into his shoulder, not saying anything, not moving. With the others, he usually tries to comfort them, care for them the best he can. He smooths over Quanzhe’s hair, holding him tight and allowing the boy to smear tears and snot over his shirts. He strokes the back of Xinchun’s neck with one hand, and uses the other to cup his face as the boy presses the back of his hand to his nose. He hugs Wenjun from behind, pressing his cheek into his bent backside as he cries silently into his hands, trying to cover up his distress. He stands right into Zeren’s space and wraps his arms around his torso, forcing him to put his chin on his shoulder, and patting his back until he finally cracks and cries down his backside. He allows Justin to bring him down to a sitting or squatting position, letting the boy curl up to him like when he was younger, head falling into his shoulder as if he was still shorter, and pulling him closer when he sobs. 

With Chengcheng, he’s careful. He holds Chengcheng almost slightly away, not moving at all as he sobs. He doesn’t comfort him as much as he holds him up, keeping him upright as he shakes with the force of his cries. 

He can’t seem to stop, even when he’s gasping for breath and the hiccups and sobs get tangled up messily in his throat. His entire body shakes with each breath, and Zhengting can feel the hot wet mess of his tears and snot as it smears onto his shoulder and arms. 

It’s almost awkward looking. Chengcheng doesn’t make any move at all to bring his hands to his face. They’re gripping onto Zhengting’s shoulders and his head is downcast, letting his tears fall freely down. It’s like he’s unable to figure out what to do exactly when he needs to cry, unable to control himself or contain himself any longer.

“Zhengting. Oh god, Zhengting.”

Zhengting brings his hand to cup his cheek, slick with tears. Slowly, he brings his head up to face his own, and the sight is like a dull blow to his stomach.

Chengcheng really is nothing but a child when he cries. There’s snot and tears smeared all over his handsome face, parts of his white skin blotchy and red. His eyes are bloodshot, raw and steamy, filled with new tears and hot emotion. His mouth is still slightly parted, sticky from his own saliva, and slightly quivering from his gasping breaths. He looks vulnerable, childish, innocent, sad.

Zhengting’s own eyes well up when he looks into his steamy eyes, and he has to tense hard to force them back down. Chengcheng. Who almost watched his world slip through his fingers just to save Zhengting. Who killed his own sister to bring Justin back. Who watched his best friend fight himself into a coma to save him. “Chengcheng?”

His voice seems to break something in Chengcheng, and he collapses again, right into Zhengting’s embrace. This time though, he’s not holding anything back. He smears himself right into his chest, pressing against it, sinking into it.

“Oh god, Zhengting. Oh god. Oh god.” he can’t seem to stop repeating them, words stumbling against each other in their efforts to go through, mixing with each other and his fresh sobs until he might as well be muttering gibberish. Zhengting knows, he _ knows  _ though, and he just holds him tighter.

“Chengcheng. My poor, sweet baby. My poor, poor kid.” he says, and Chengcheng just seems to sob harder. He’s always been soft deep down, starving for family and love, and Zhengting knows that. “It’s not your fault, Chengcheng. It’s not your fault.”

“I know, I know, okay? I know it’s not my fault, but god, Zhengting, why couldn’t it have been? If it was just my fault, I could have prevented all this, this shit, from happening. If it was my fault, I could have stopped him from going, from trying to get me, from trying to  _ save _ me again, from-”

“Hey, hey, hey. No. It was Justin’s decision to go for you. His idea to go run for you. Don’t say stuff like that-”

“But oh god. It’s always like this. Justin’s always trying to come get me, come save me, whatever. He’s always throwing himself into stuff to drag me out of it, and it’s never my fault he does that. But  _ god _ , why does it feel like it is? Why, Zhengting, did he have to come this time?”

“Shhh. Shhhhhhh.” He begins to pat Chengcheng on the back, “Don’t think like that. Your talking like he’s gone. He’s not, you know that. He’s just fighting another fight right now, you know that. Don’t talk like that and discourage him, egg him on.” he’s talking like a mother would to a five month old child, but maybe, that’s what Chengcheng needs anyways. “Just let it all out.”

“But- it’s just- he’s-”

“Shhh, baby. You’re gonna choke. Take some breaths.  _ Baby _ -”

Chengcheng doesn’t calm down, but he doesn’t say anything more. He just goes back to crying. He’s dried out now, there aren’t any more tears he can shed, but he cries anyways, dry choking muffling into Zhengting’s shirt. He cries, sobs wracking his body, until he can’t shake any longer.

At least an hour passes before Zhengting moves, gently shimmying Chengcheng’s head and arms off him so that the boy is slumping over Justin’s legs in the hospital bed. His face is swollen, blotchy, sticky from crying, and Zhengting can still see the tear tracks cutting into his face. Again Zhengting reminds himself that Chengcheng is nothing but a child in this sense, with how he’s cried himself to exhaustion and is now passed out, sorrow fresh on his face. 

He strips off his own jacket, even if there are better blankets around him on the other hospital beds, and drapes it over Chengcheng’s gently rising and falling backside. He feels like he would like it more than the antiseptic smelling sheets, and would understand that Zhengting felt for him just as much as he needed.

It’s chilly; the dry plains the Retributation base is situated in does little to regulate the temperature, and Zhengting can feel the hairs on the backs of his arm prick up. He’s still dressed in the same outfit that he wore with Yifan, and he can feel the sweat stick to him with a cold chill. It doesn’t matter, however, when compared to how he feels looking at his two kids lying in the bed.

They might as well have been just sleeping, if Zhengting didn’t know them better. Justin’s face is peaceful and doesn’t reveal anything about his thrill at going on missions and how he’s a demon when he kills and fights. Chengcheng looks worn out, tired, ready to sleep and betraying nothing about his skill and training in assassination. Together, they’re just a pair of young boys, not yet even in their twenties, that have come back from an adventure, dirty and cut all over, to be tucked back into bed, ready for school the next day.

Zhengting’s heart clenches up painfully at this thought. He’s done his best to give them the most peaceful and caring environment possible for them to grow up in, at least what could count as normal for what they did. He didn’t want his boys to grow up like he did, at least, from the few scattered memories he had left from his childhood he never wanted to think about again. Why else would he leave everything behind at SM to drag Quanzhe, Zeren, and Justin away somewhere ‘safe’? Why else would he pull Wenjun onto their car, even when he knew that his family would come for his head if they knew where their prized son was? Why else would he take Xinchun, a nobody, away from his abusive mother? Why else would he save Chengcheng, the ace of a rivalling agency, pulling the bullets from his legs and asking him to stay?

It was all to give them a home, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it all to give them a home, to give himself a home, to keep all of them together? Wasn’t it to keep them all safe?

What went wrong?

He brushed the locks of Justin’s dirty blond hair out of his eyes and lets the tears fall onto the bed. They’re both so young and so full of life. Zhengting had to throw away his entire life to be able to give Justin his, and he had to fight and drag every bit of who Chengcheng really was for him to even be able to give him his. All he wanted was to keep them all safe, all he wanted was for them to all be happy. Why did all of that seem to crumble down, even worse, because of him?

He’s a hypocrite, he knows. He gave Chengcheng the same advice: don’t blame yourself. But that was more so a cry to block off his own cowardice, his fear at seeing what he was afraid of most: to see his kids, the people he loves most in the entire god forsaken world, hurt again. He doesn’t take his own advice to heart; why would he, when the truth is stretched out clear and thin right in front of him?

Zhengting turns then, hands still lingering on the small of Chengcheng’s back and the locks of Justin’s hair, unable, almost, to let go of what he already failed to protect. But he knows that by not leaving now, he could expose them to even more harm than what he’s already caused. The sheer magnitude of that implication, that horrifying possibility, is all he needs to let go.

The outside corridor, he realizes, is even colder than the hospital wing. The lights are dimmer, slightly yellow instead of white, and even though that colour theme is supposed to make things feel warmer, all Zhengting feels when he steps into the hall is cold, cold, cold.

He supposes he’s crying, but it seems like he’s always crying these days anyways. It’s like he can’t even control himself anymore, and maybe it’s true. Zhengting presses his knuckles hard against his cheekbones, and lets the tears roll hot and unchecked over the backs of his hands. He’s sniffling, making those awful choking sounds he gets when he tries to stop himself from crying, and everything inside him seems to be clenched up too tightly and too hard. This is probably why he’s in this position now, how he can’t control himself, can’t do the right things for shit. It’s probably why he let everything slip out of his fingers, let everything spiral out of control. It’s probably why he couldn’t just get Chengcheng to not be exchanged and Justin to stay put. It’s probably why they’re not safe anymore.

He hates the crying, hates the moments of weakness that tell too much about his fears, that haunt him and whisper to him that he’s not enough, will never be enough to keep them all there with him. And god, the  _ crying _ . 

Presently, he notices the tips of the black boots at the top of his vision. They’re blurry from his tears, and Zhengting doesn’t have the energy or strength to look away any longer.

He raises his head and looks into Xukun’s eyes.

Xukun is impassive, cold again. He has the mask that Zhengting knows so well, that has always done him good for missions and negotiations. One of his eyes is blackened, both cheeks purple and blue, and his lip is still swollen. Zhengting feels his hands tingle with the knowledge that this was again because of him and his inability to control himself, to control anything. It seems like wherever he goes, he’s hurting someone. Justin, Chengcheng, Wenjun, and even Xukun. Xukun, who he hurt years ago, weeks ago, days ago, hours ago. And who he still can’t seem to stop damaging, each time in a new degree of irreparability. 

Xukun, who’s always been just that. Who’s always been indescribably  _ Xukun _ , and has always made Zhengting feel something, has made him feel alive.

He lets himself crumple into his arms, and lets himself sob into his warm, warm, warm embrace.

Xukun really is kind. He takes Zhengting into his arms without question, without any implication of their fight that morning. He doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t say anything about everything and anything. 

Zhengting cries into his shirt, feeling Xukun pull him closer, allowing himself to tuck his head into the crook of his chest he always liked to lay his head on. 

He missed this, the feeling, the scent, the being of Xukun all around him: his arms, the smell of his shirt, the feeling of his cheek pressed against his cheek.

And when Xukun tilts his head up and gently, ever so gently, presses his lips to his, he lets him. He opens his mouth slightly, gasping as Xukun licks the outline of his lips. It’s so sweet, Xukun tastes so sweet, with a tinge of bitterness. Bitterness that invades his tongue and traces the dips of his mouth. 

The bitterness is there when Xukun cups his hands against his cheek, pulls back to look hard at him with that blazen look Zhengting feels his chest tighten up for, and presses his mouth against his again. It’s gentle, still so gentle, and for the moment, he doesn’t think that anything is more soft, more comforting.

Xukun lifts him sometime, pulling him up so that he’s wrapping his legs against his waist, and begins to walk down the hall. They’re still pressed together, mouths connected and moving against each other, hands gripping desperately at each other’s bodies. 

When he presses him down onto the bed, Zhengting only pulls him closer. He gasps deeply, softly at the texture of Xukun’s lips on his own, then his jaw, then neck, then collar then even more. 

It’s all soft and gentle, too many actions and emotions and too little words. But it’s Xukun, and Zhengting knows that nothing else matters.

It's just Xukun who does.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o_o


	47. Zeren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> relieving zeren drought
> 
> okay i always say that the writing is bad but trust me this week is horrendous

Zeren watches himself in the mirrors as he tilts his body for a side kick. His muscles have strengthened in the past couple of weeks at the Retributation, the evidence in the new line that bulges out when he rolls his pant legs up. He can tilt his entire body more too, the result of a new regimen Yanchen is helping him with to improve his flexibility.

“Are you really that attractive for you to be drooling over yourself in the mirror?” Yanchen’s voice is amused, complementing the expression he has on his face.

“Shut up.” he grunts, glaring non-committedly at Yanchen’s pretty smirk. “You stare at yourself too.”

“Except you’ve never been interested in how you look.” Xinchun chirps from where he’s lounged on the couch, “Maybe Zeren is finally gonna hit puberty and grow up?”

Zeren stops kicking at the sandbag and spins to glare at Xinchun. He takes a couple menacing steps forward, but Xinchun looks at him almost lazily, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Yanchen’s reflection barely covering up his grin.

“What about you? Are you gonna grow some balls and confess to Dinghao?” he retorts, sliding up against him on the couch.

The smile immediately disappears from Xinchun’s face. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh please. I lived with you for like five fucking years, Xinchun, you can’t hide stuff for shit.”

Xinchun colours, the red blooming fast across his cheeks, “W-what?” That’s the problem with Xinchun. It takes so little for him to be riled up, and Zeren would think it to be cute if they didn’t literally (and he means  _ literally _ ) drool over each other each night.

He grins, pleased that he’s in the offensive again, and he can see Yanchen walking over to them, a cat-like smile stretched across his devil face.

“Xinchun liiiikkkkkkeeeesssssss Dinghao!” Yanchen coos as he slides in on the other side of Xinchun. He pinches the boy’s cheek, which only makes him colour even more.

“No- I just- no- ugh!” He covers his eyes with both hands and sprints for the door without another word.

Zeren grins at Yanchen when he’s gone, seeing the playful mirth dancing in the other’s eyes. His stomach still does that stupid little flop even after weeks and weeks of reconnecting with Yanchen, but he’s so used to it by now he can’t even care.

Yanchen’s face is as beautiful as it’s always been, even with that last fading olive-green bruise against his cheekbone, where Zhengting beat the shit out of him three weeks ago. Three weeks ago, when they came back with Chengcheng and an unconscious Justin, and when Mubo told them that Justin was in a coma. Three weeks of seeing Justin’s limp body on the hospital bed, breathing in accordance to the beeping on a machine. 

Zhengting has been, for the most part, relatively calm. They all have, including Zeren, even though he feels a sharp pain in his chest each time he visits the medical wing. Justin is his oldest friend (apart from Quanzhe), his first mission partner (even if they were absolute shit as a team and Justin works the best with Cheng), his  _ family _ (even if it sounds cheesy as fuck). But what can they do, when there’s nothing to be done, and there are people more vulnerable to the pain?

Chengcheng has barely lived these three weeks, in Zeren’s eyes. He’s gone back to that weird, shell-shocked state they first met him as, with hollow eyes and tight fists. Zeren can get a couple words out of him on a good day, but there’s no bite anymore. No playful or even insulting smirk. Just words. Nothing else but words. 

He could have expected this. Chengcheng and Justin have always been… close. But not in the way he is with them. They’re… reliant on each other. Terribly so. They’ve never really spoken about it, but Zeren knows that whatever it was, it was enough so that Justin would drop everything and recklessly barge into JYP, getting himself shot up almost beyond repair, and enough so that Chengcheng killed his own sister as revenge. 

Zeren himself tried not to rely too hard on his usual support system. He knows that no matter how strong Zhengting is making himself seem (he feels guilty, his protectiveness speaking to him), he’s tearing himself up on the inside, and Zeren doesn’t want him to have to worry about another kid. Wenjun has been good, but Zeren can see the dark eye bags under his eyes and the new lines around his pale face, and he knows that Wenjun can only take so much. Xinchun is strong, but Zeren doesn’t want him to be burdened with anything more. Quanzhe is out of the question: Quanzhe sobbed so much in the first week after, Zeren didn’t know what to do. He’s always had a soft spot for Quanzhe anyways, with how he basically brought him up during their days on the streets.

At least he has Yanchen. Yanchen with his wide smile and who didn’t even complain when his face swelled up and had to be patched up for an entire week after Zhengting pummelled him. Zeren remembers the way Zhengting had fought, eyes manic and fists promising blood, and the way Yanchen had done his best to defend himself from his attacks. It reminded him of just how skilled Zhengting was, with how he could handle  _ Yanchen _ of all people even with both legs partially disabled. Zeren had to literally drag Yanchen away before Zhengting could descend on him again, and the look he had on his face alone as he pulled him by the arms back was enough to remind him just how dangerous an angry, uncontrolled Zhengting could be. Zhengting didn’t usually get like that, the last time he remembered it happening being when some rowdy bunches of beefy men cornered Wenjun in an alley when he was heading back from the store.

A hand appeared in his sight, the fingers snapping in front of his eyes. “Yo! Earth to Zeren!”

Zeren jerked his head up, “What.”

“You were blanking out.” Yanchen grins like a cat, all too sly, “Were you thinking about what Xinchun said about growing up?”

“God, shut up.” Zeren groans, pinching his eyes shut and pushing his shoulder. His stomach tightens at the feeling of Yanchen’s muscles under his hand, and he swallows stupidly.

Oh yeah. His crush has only gotten worse in the past couple of weeks.

Yanchen laughs, reaching over and ruffling Zeren’s hair. He can feel the sensation rush through the rest of his body, warming him up everywhere it goes. “You’re so cute.”

Zeren can feel himself flush, but he holds onto his cool. Glaring at him, he growls, “Says you. What do they call you? Little flower?”

Yanchen winces, “Oh no. Don’t.”

“Is it because you’re as pretty as a flower? Zhou Yanchen? The  _ impossibly _ skilled Retributation head with the prettiest face ever?”

“Don’t even.” Now it’s Yanchen’s turn to groan and turn away, red tainting his cheeks. “That’s what they said about Zhengting, don’t give me the same title as him.” His voice is annoyed but good humoured. That’s another good thing about Yanchen. Apart from being pretty reliable and just plain pretty, he doesn’t hold grudges. He didn’t even look angry at Zhengting when he apologized again and again to him the next day after he had beat him up. Just laughed good naturedly and hugged him tighter.

Yanchen really was a good guy. Understanding, fun, incredibly skilled, good natured. And so damn attractive as well.

Ugh, this was getting out of control.

Zeren poked Yanchen’s side, giggling a little, before he heard the annoyed grunt from the direction of the door.

Quanzhe, with his newly dyed pink hair, was glaring at him with his hands on his hips. Zeren didn’t think he liked that hair colour on him as well as his previous soft silver locks. Yanchen had brought him on an impromptu haircut to cheer him up a little, and the little shit came back with a head of cherry blossom coloured hair. Zeren had chosen the silver for him in the first place for a reason, but the smile on his face was the widest it had been in weeks, and that was enough for him to thank Yanchen later on.

“Zeren-ge! You said you would go with me on my checks with everyone!”

Zeren groaned immediately. Quanzhe had gotten the habit to check with each person of the Retributation at least once each day, and Zeren, with his stupidly soft heart for him, had agreed to go with him today to keep him happy. He didn’t mind anyone in the place, but the work of trotting all over the mansion looking for each person was less than appealing.

“I heard that!” Quanzhe cried indignantly. He flickered his eyes briefly to Yanchen, but before Zeren could see what expression he might have, Quanzhe pouted. “You  _ promised _ Zeren-ge!” 

Okay, that was enough to convince him.

“Fine. Fine. Just don’t go squealing to Wenjun or Zhengting. Let me put my jacket back on.”

Quanzhe grinned, eyes again darting to Yanchen. Zeren spun to see a mostly placid expression. He narrowed his eyes, “Stop giving Quanzhe ideas how to piss me off.”

“I would never.”

“Mmm, and Quanzhe thinks your face is  _ that _ pretty to always be looking over at you.”

“My face is gorgeous. You said so yourself.”

Well fuck.

They left the mirrored training center, Zeren pulling his jacket back over his shoulders. Or, Yanchen’s jacket that he lent him. The clothing was a little too big on him and drooped over his slim frame, but he didn’t want to go back to his dorm room to grab the clothes Ziyi and Jeffrey had brought back the other day from some shopping center. Besides, it smelled like Yanchen and it was nice, as creepy as that sounded.

“Who’s first?”

Quanzhe did a little hop in front of him, “The techies. Let’s go by the tech center to see Xiao Gui and Jeffrey. Xingjie, Ruibin, and Jeffrey might be there too. And Linong.”

“And Zhangjing and Yanjun.” Yanchen reminded from slightly behind him. Zeren turned, mouth slightly opened to reproach him, but Yanchen’s eyes were strangely fixated on him, and he felt his mouth go dry. His eyes really were beautiful.

He licked his lips, “No, Yanjun usually takes Zhangjing out at this time to the city to look around. Or they might be at their dorm room.”

“Well, let’s head over anyways and check.”

He was right. Yanjun and Zhangjing were nowhere to be seen in the tech center. So was Nongnong. But Xiao Gui was there, leaning against Ruibin, tapping away at some device. Xingjie was talking with Ruibin over his head, hand nonchalantly resting on Xiao Gui’s thigh. In a corner of the room, Jeffrey was propped up against the wall on a bench, peeling a boiled egg. Ziyi was there too beside him, surprisingly, holding another egg, although a little less enthusiastically. 

“Hi Quanzhe! Zhou Little Flower! Kung Pao Chicken!” Xiao Gui greeted them even without looking up from the screen. Zeren swore that Xiao Gui had some sixth sense for detecting them; it would make sense considering how smart he was.

“Kung Pao Chicken?” Jeffrey frowned. Ziyi reached over and casually draped his arm on his shoulder.

“It’s what they call Zeren now. Xiao Gui came up with it.”

Jeffrey didn’t seem to even acknowledge what Ziyi said, biting nonchalantly into his egg. Quanzhe snorted, and even Xingjie was smiling.

“It’s a dumb nickname.” Zeren sighed. He sat himself by Ruibin, who was now running one hand through Xiao Gui’s dreadlocks, before thinking better of it and scooching away. He didn’t want to third (or fourth honestly, he couldn’t tell with the way Xingjie was grasping Xiao Gui’s thigh) wheel whatever they had going on. Yanchen sat between them, Quanzhe sitting on top of Zeren soon after.

“Any news on SM?” Yanchen asked Xingjie, leaning back onto Zeren’s shoulder.

“Nothing major, just a couple of rumours Gui filed up from a couple of chat dialogues.” Xingjie looked up from Xiao Gui’s screen, “Apparently, the SM third in command-- Byun Baekhyun or something-- is looking for Chanyeol.”

Zeren winced. Chanyeol was the prostitution head him and Yanchen had captured before to help Zhengting with his mission. He had been in a cell in their basement ever since, watched around the clock by Bu Fan and Yue Yue. 

Yanchen frowned, “Nothing major? That sounds pretty big to me. Why’s he looking for him?”

“Not sure, but rumour is that Byun Baekhyun had a thing for Park Chanyeol, even back when  _ they _ were trainees at SM. There isn’t any rumour of them being together, but it doesn’t detract from the fact that Baekhyun is at least looking for him.”

“Are we gonna do anything about that?”

Xingjie shrugged, “We can’t. Baekhyun is barely seen by anyone in SM; so little people even know what he actually looks like. He was a socialite when he was a trainee, the rumours say, and apparently he was the Ace in that field, sort of like Yanjun. Then, when he pulled through with almost a perfect mission success rate, they promoted him to an official, and no one’s seen his face since. We don’t have any leads on him, no ideas or clues what he’s up to. We only have these couple of texts and that’s not enough to pin down anything.”

“So we’re just gonna wait it out?” Zeren asked, furrowing his eyebrows. This Byun Baekhyun person sounded like a legitimate threat-- third in command at SM was no joke, especially if he was as skilled as they said he was-- and the fact that he was looking for Chanyeol, the person  _ he _ kidnapped, the entire situation seemed all too dangerous.

“Baekhyun can’t have any way of knowing where we are. No one should know except for us. We can’t do anything more except for look more into who this guy is.”

Zeren glanced over at Yanchen. He looked equally as concerned as he felt, brows furrowed and mouth slightly frowning. He himself wanted to point out that there was too big of a threat for them to not do anything more, but Xingjie was right. No one should know where they were, and they couldn’t do anything either. 

No one spoke for a couple of moments. Zeren watched as Yanchen bit his bottom lip, leaning over to rest his face on his hands, deep in thought. He felt like he should be thinking about the situation too, but damn was Yanchen’s face distracting.

“Way to ruin the mood, Yanchen.” Quanzhe said sulkily, leaning back on Zeren.

“Fuck, Quanzhe. You’re heavy.” 

Yanchen burst out laughing, and even though Quanzhe’s back was squishing down on his chest, Zeren smiled sheepishly at the sound of his pretty laugh, loud and breathy. 

“Jie-ge sucks. He ruined the mood.” Quanzhe continued to pout, earning a sort of lazy fond grin from Xingjie. Like him, Xingjie had a soft spot for Quanzhe’s antics.

“Let’s go to whatever next place then. You wanted to visit everyone right?” Yanchen got up and stretched out a hand to Quanzhe. He could see the pink haired boy’s face stretch into a wide smile before he took it and pulled himself off Zeren.

“Ugh, finally. My bones were gonna snap.” he grumbled as he picked himself up. Zeren patted his pants a couple of times to get rid of any dust on them, before raising his head to meet Yanchen’s outstretched hand. He raised an eyebrow at his corresponding slightly lost face until he lowered it. “Where to?”

Quanzhe gave Xingjie a hug he didn’t look like he really appreciated before scurrying out the door. Zeren gave one last little wave to Ruibin and Xiao Gui and Xingjie, one last look at Ziyi and Jeffrey (who didn’t even seem to be paying attention to them at this point) before following him out.

Yanchen was by his side as they followed Quanzhe’s trotting. “He’s a lot happier today than he’s been in weeks.” he breathed into his ear. Zeren felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up at the feeling of his hot breath against his skin.

“He’s been happy ever since you let him get that stupid hair colour. Now he won’t stop trying to get me to love him up.”

Yanchen grinned again, perfect white teeth on full display, and Zeren had to look away to hide the red that was surely tinting his cheeks. “You love him up regardless.”

“Shut up. That wasn’t an invitation to make fun of me. Yo Quanzhe! Where are we heading next?” he raised his voice for the last part, shouting at the boy trotting in front of him.

Quanzhe didn’t even look behind him, “Hospital wing. I want to see Chengcheng and Justin.”

Okay, he could agree with that idea. He would have probably checked on them himself if Quanzhe didn’t want to go see them yet, probably would have brought some food as well. Chengcheng didn’t usually say much if it wasn’t for the bare necessities, and they sometimes even had to force him to remember that it was lunch or dinner time. He spent most of his free time just in the medical wing, watching Justin, holding his hand or reading a book.

Sure enough, Chengcheng is propped up in his usual chair when they reach the medical wing. His icy blond hair is damp from a shower Wenjun probably forced him into, a fact solidified with how Wenjun’s hair is just as wet beside him. He’s quiet, as he has been for the past couple of weeks, gently rubbing circles in Justin’s hand as he stares at his still unresponsive face. Beside him, Wenjun is quietly muddling something that smells disgustingly plant-y in a bowl, the sleeves to his collared shirt rolled up to his elbows. Linong is there as well, watching Wenjun’s wooden bar press against the green mush and slosh around. Zeren can hear from the little room towards the inside that Mubo and Qin Fen are quietly bickering as well.

Justin is still in his bed. His arm is still tied up in that weird splint thing, but the bandages are mostly gone. Wenjun took most of the ones for the shallow wounds off a week before, leaving only the ones covering the bullet wounds and the deep gash on his side. There’s a pattern of new scars on his body, including one that stretches across one side of his forehead and down one eyebrow. It’s not pretty, but Zeren doesn’t really care about anything except for the fact that he’s  _ still _ unconscious after three weeks in a coma. 

It gives him a weird lump in his throat when he thinks of what that could mean, but he pushes the thought away fast, and it goes away.

Quanzhe is, for the most part, pretty reserved in this place. He scurries over to Chengcheng as soon as they go through the door and wraps his arms around his neck in a quick back hug. Then, he peers over Justin’s bed, going close enough to his head so that his bangs are dangling over his eyes, and presses his fingers gently to his neck. Zeren asked once why he had to do that every time they visited the medical center, and Quanzhe had told him simply that he had to just check he was still there. 

They didn’t talk about it more after then.

Zeren walks a little faster when he steps inside the room, pacing over to Wenjun and Linong. They’ve been spending quite a bit of time in the past couple of weeks; Zeren knows that Linong has been going on more smaller missions and that he usually gets Wenjun to patch him up afterwards, but that’s not all to it. In Linong’s free time he usually goes to find Wenjun as well, as opposed to always hanging out with Yanjun and Zhangjing like he expected. They don’t talk much, either of them, but they seem to like each other’s company, and if that’s enough to make Wenjun less stressed and tense about the entire situation, that’s good enough for him.

“Whatcha making?” he scrunched up his nose at the bitter smell coming from the crushed up leaves, “Smells bad.”

Yanchen bent over, shoving his face almost directly into the bowl before jerking away, disgust painted across his face. “Oh shit, that’s gross.”

“I just said that it smells bad and you still go shoving your face into it.”

He grinned, “You’re not a reliable source.”

Before he could retort back, Wenjun cut through them, “Get your face away from the bowl. It’s for a dressing and I don’t need your germs anywhere near it.” He pointed a gloved finger at them, “Actually, I don’t need any of you tainting up this sterile environment with your germs. Shoo.”

Nongnong giggled. Yanchen protested, “Hey! You’re letting Nongnong get even closer to the place than we are!”

Wenjun waved casually, “He’s wearing gloves. And goggles. And unlike you, Zeren, and Quanzhe, he actually is nice and quiet. Now shoo before I splash you accidentally with this.”

Zeren pushed his shoulder lightly as punishment for kicking them out before walking over to Justin’s bed. As usual, he pressed his hand lightly to his head, feeling the locks of blond hair under his fingers, before pulling away to ruffle Chengcheng’s hair instead. His hair is damp, but he doesn’t even react to the touch. Just continued to rub Justin’s hand and stare at his face.

Yanchen cleared his throat, “Hey, Chengcheng. If you want, we can go spar a little in one of the training centers.”

Chengcheng didn’t show any sign that he heard what he said. Zeren exchanged a glance with Yanchen. “Chengcheng. Do you wanna hang out with Yanchen?”

He looked up, eyes a little apprehensive, but voice smooth, “No. I’ll stay here for a bit longer.”

Wenjun called out from behind them, “Go, Cheng. You’ve been here for over two hours now. Go with Yanchen or I’ll have to kick you out. You need to keep in shape anyways and you’ve barely moved today.”

Zeren squeezed his shoulder, “Yeah, Chengcheng. Go with Yanchen.”

To his credit, Chengcheng didn’t make too much of a hassle today. Usually, when they tried coaxing him away, he would glower at them or snap back. They would sometimes even have to resort to threatening him that they would tell Zhengting. That was a foolproof way of getting him to keep himself active and alive, but Zeren hated pulling that tactic out of the bag. Zhengting would just feel guilty and sad about the whole situation, and he knew that Chengcheng didn’t want that as much as he didn’t. 

Chengcheng picked himself up, giving Justin’s hand one more squeeze. Yanchen slung an arm around his shoulders and began to lead him out the door. 

Feeling like it was the right thing to say, Zeren called out, “Don’t worry. Go train a bit. Quanzhe and I will stay here with Justin.”

Chengcheng didn’t make any acknowledgement that he heard him, but Yanchen turned his head around and sent him a smile so dazzling, Zeren swore that he was sparkling. Then, they left.

Quanzhe pulled a chair over to where Zeren was now sitting, both hands holding one of Justin’s, and groaned. “I guess we won’t be able to visit everyone now.” He stared morosely at Justin’s limp form, “But this is probably better anyways.”

He leaned over, head on his hands and elbows on the bed near Justin’s shoulder. “Hey, Zeren. When are you gonna admit that you have a crush on Yanchen?”

The words took him by surprise, and he replied, albeit a little defensively, “I don’t have a crush.”

Quanzhe snorted, “Please. I’ve known you the longest out of everyone here. I can tell when you wanna fuck someone. Also,did you forget that I literally was trained in this kind of stuff?”

“In what. Telling if I have a crush or not?”

“You’re avoiding the question. You do, right?! I like Yanchen. I bet Zhengting would approve as well.”

Zeren groaned, pressing his fingers to his eyelids, “For the last time, no! I don’t have a crush on Yanchen. I just… I just think he’s a pretty nice guy.”

He could hear Quanzhe’s scoff, “I wish you could hear yourself right now. Everytime I see you look at him, I can literally see you undressing him.”

Zeren reached out a hand and whacked him on the back of his head, “God, shut up. Don’t be like that.” He could feel his cheeks burn. Damn Quanzhe. Damn his training in this kind of shit. It was just bad because he wasn’t wrong.

“You’re so red, Zeren. You little virgin. Just be glad that Yanchen looks at you even more grossly. God I wanna puke when I see you guys together.”

Wait, what?

Zeren took his hand away from his eyes and gaped at Quanzhe. “What did you say?”

Quanzhe smirked, glee in his eyes, “You really didn’t notice the way he looks at you? Like you’re the cutest snack on the planet. He flirts with you all the time and hangs around your snappy ass like there’s nothing else better.” He tilts his head with amusement, “And it’s even better cause he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.”

Zeren’s mind burns, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“ _ You _ weren’t trained to detect attraction. Just ask Nong or Yanjun. They’ve said the exact same thing about you and Yanchen.” He turns back to gaze at Justin’s forehead, “We should give him a wash or something.” 

As he stood up again to fetch a bucket of water and shampoo, Zeren stared at Justin’s hand in his own. Yanchen? Looking at him? Flirting with him? Was he really like that?

Zeren couldn’t be sure. He thought that all of Yanchen’s gestures and teasing and touches were a sign of friendship. He was pretty damn friendly with everyone. With that blinding smile and addictive personality, who wouldn’t like him?

Then again, Quanzhe had spoke a pretty good truth. As much as he hated when he teased him for it, Zeren  _ wasn’t  _ good at figuring out this stuff. With his strict training schedule and non-stop missions, he never got the opportunity to drool over people. He hadn’t had a boyfriend or girlfriend before, had never had sex. Hell, embarrassingly, he hadn’t even had his first kiss. 

He scowled to himself. Quanzhe didn’t have any business making fun of him. The only reason why  _ he _ wasn’t as dry as he was was because his job literally was about seducing people and flirting with them to get their secrets. Justin and Cheng were (to his knowledge) virgins as well, but that wasn’t really a fair comparison considering how young they were.

And with that thought, he brushed any suspicions of Yanchen’s affection away.

Or, that’s what he said to himself. The image of Yanchen’s dazzling smile and bright eyes each time he turned towards him lingered.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of a filler, but im dry and i need insight into more characters and also more love for yanren
> 
> stay tuned for a lot of ships and a lot of action ;)


	48. Ziyi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more filler woo

Ziyi sighs when he looks down at his watch and sees that it’s 4 o’clock.

Beside him, Jeffrey-- who is reading some sort of programming book Xinchun lent him with one hand, munching on an egg with the other-- doesn’t even look from the pages at the sound, “Hmm.”

“Meeting with Xukun, Xingjie, and Yanchen.” He turned his head to the other side of the room, where Xingjie and Ruibin were gazing avidly at Xiao Gui’s device in his hands, “Yo, Xingjie! It’s four o’clock!”

Xingjie’s mouth stretched into a straight line, and for a moment, Ziyi was almost sorry he disturbed their quiet little moment. Then, he picked himself up, and patted Ruibin and Xiao Gui once each on the head, “Let’s go then before Xukun gets annoyed.”

For some reason, Ziyi deemed it appropriate to turn once more to Jeffrey. The boy was still focused on his book, round glasses perched on his nose, and even though he didn’t look up to see him, he raised one hand in an ok sign. Ziyi nodded, a little stupidly, before turning and following Xingjie out.

Unsurprisingly, only Xukun was in the office when they arrived, the blond haired boy frowning over a pile of papers on his table. 

“Yanchen isn’t here yet.” Xingjie said it more like a statement than a question.

Xukun rolled his eyes, “Of course. He’s probably hanging with Zeren again, or taking one of Zhengting’s kids out to cause mischief.” 

Behind him, an indignant voice sounded out from the doorway, “Hey! I was taking Chengcheng to the training centers for a fight! When have I ever tried to mess around with Zhengting’s kids?”

Ziyi felt a small bubble of amusement burst in him, “You hang with Zeren all the time, and he’s one of Zhengting’s kids. And you take Quanzhe and Xinchun running around whenever you think Zhengting isn’t looking.”

Yanchen opened his mouth to retort again, indignance painted all across his handsome features, before Xingjie was cutting across them, “Okay, okay. We need to get to work now. Xukun is looking at those chat messages about Byun Baekhyun looking for us.”

Yanchen pulled a chair up to Xukun’s desk before plopping himself into it, “The ones that you claim aren’t a major concern?” He raised an eyebrow in challenge.

“I never said that there  _ wasn’t _ a threat. I just said that we couldn’t do anything about it.”

“But can we really not do anything? We can do some more sifting.” Ziyi asked, put his hands on the desk and peered down at the pictures and screenshots.

“We could, but I doubt we would find too much more.”

“Well, it’s better than sitting on our asses and waiting for him to make the first move.” Yanchen jerked as if suddenly remembering something and quickly spun to Xukun, “Hey, Kun. What do  _ you  _ think?”

Ziyi watched as Xukun slowly put the paper back onto the desk and leaned back in his chair. He ran his hand through his blond hair once before saying, “I agree that we can’t really do anything major right now… but I was just thinking...I’m not liking something.”

“What?”

Xukun sighed, “The JYP thing.”

Ziyi watched as Yanchen and Xingjie’s faces darkened, both understanding immediately. 

“Bingbing is dead, or at least, out of commission. Zhengting said that Chengcheng said he killed her.” Yanchen said stiffly. No one enjoyed talking about what had happened with Chengcheng at JYP, himself included. Ziyi knew only because Zhengting could get Chengcheng to tell him. There was a lot of ambiguity about the actual details, since they had arrived at the conclusion that Chengcheng was too dehydrated, bled out, and in shock to actually know precisely what had happened, but the facts were clear. Chengcheng had fought his way out of JYP with Justin’s limp form after the boy had broken in to free him. In the process, he shot Bingbing in the chest. Justin had killed Wu Yifan. However, there were other parts to the story that didn’t exactly sit well with him, and a quick glance at Xukun confirmed that he was thinking the same thing.

“If you’re thinking about the threats Bingbing made to Chengcheng…”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking.” Xukun leaned forwards in his chair, “If Bingbing’s threats of ambushing us or threatening us were enough to anger Chengcheng enough to kill her, then we have a reason to be worried about how well she knows about us at this point.”

“But we can’t be sure.” Xingjie said doubtfully.

Yanchen interjected, “Do you want to take that chance?”

Ziyi nodded to agree, remembering what Jeffrey had told him a couple of days ago, “Jeffrey said that JYP has a strong technology and hacking department too. If Bingbing could find security footage of Chengcheng with Zhengting and Justin and the rest of them, there isn’t any reason why she wouldn’t find stuff on us.”

Xukun sighed deeply, “I’m just afraid that they’ll join forces with SM to come get us. They’re wouldn’t be any reason not to, since they’ve collaborated with projects in the past, like for drug trades. If not for Bingbing’s maybe death, they would do it for Justin killing Yifan.”

“Yes, yes, but again, there really isn’t anything for us to do except increase security and wipe our traces the best we can.” Xingjie put one of his fists on the desk on the papers, “I’ll go get Jeffrey, Xiao Gui, and Xinchun to start wiping our traces. I’ll ask Yanjun about Zhangjing as well. And speaking about that: is Yanjun and Zhangjing’s thing resolved?”

Yanchen hummed, “They took out the target almost perfectly. Yanjun reassured me that no one would ever trace Hendery to him, and I don’t think Yanjun would overexaggerate anything in  _ this _ specific mission. We just need to be worried about raising suspicion, since his branch and people have come in contact too often with ours. And our break-in to get Zhangjing back.”

Xukun groaned, “So basically, we’re just raising more and more suspicion and awareness.  _ Christ _ .” He tightened his fists, “At least we’re making some sort of mark now. They should know to watch out for us.” 

No one spoke for a moment. Ziyi watched their faces, contemplating what they were thinking about. Xingjie didn’t look pleased, probably because it meant that they would have to overwork the already crazy busy techies again. Yanchen looked apprehensive about everything, devil face dark and frustrated about the position they were in. Xukun just looked tired. Tired, way too tense, and apprehensive about all the different threats thrown their way.

He cleared his throat, “We should get to work then.” 

A slight pause. Then Xingjie jerked himself out of whatever trace he was in, “I’ll go get the techies.” Patting them all on the shoulder, he left.

Yanchen scoffed as the heels of his boots disappeared out the door, “That idiot. Doesn’t think we can do anything except wait for our asses to get beat.” His annoyed face reminded Ziyi how different Yanchen was from Xingjie, even if they were best friends. Yanchen’s aggression and recklessness directly contrasted from Xingjie’s stable, smart, careful tactics.

Yanchen left soon after, saying that he had to go back to train with Chengcheng. He didn’t want the boy to just go back to pining away in the medical wing, and they let him leave.

As the sounds of Yanchen’s paces gradually faded, Ziyi faced Xukun again,

His best friend was still frowning at the papers on the desk, brows furrowed hard and mouth tight. Ziyi plopped down into the chair beside him and sighed deeply.

“I just wish I knew what this Byun Baekhyun looks like at least. How are we supposed to scout out stuff on him if we don’t even know what colour hair he has?” Xukun muttered, flipping a page. 

Ziyi looked at the last fading red mark on his cheekbone. “Your bruises are almost healed,” he said instead. 

Xukun huffed, “Is that what you’re concerned about instead of all this shit?”

He laughed, “No. I’m stressed too. I promise. Just changing the subject, you know.”

“Changing the subject isn’t gonna solve our problems.”

“Relax, Kun. Xingjie is gonna do the best he can to get more info, and Yanchen is probably gonna jack up training regimens, seeing how annoyed he is about not strengthening our forces for this.” he leant forward, gently pushing the paper in Xukun’s hands back down onto the desk, “You have a team, Xukun. Even if you’re the official head of this place, we’re all working together.”

Xukun sighed, now leaning back. He put his hands behind his neck. His sweater sleeve rolled down a bit, revealing the light lilac marks where the worst of the blows were. Ziyi swallowed.

“How are you and Ting?” he swallowed again after asking.

He hadn’t seen Xukun and Zhengting talk after the incident in the medical wing, which was understandable, he guessed. Ziyi himself was just angry about Zhengting losing control like he did and hurting everyone so badly. Yanchen still had bruises on his cheekbones, and there was a long streak down Xingjie’s arm from where he skid along the floor after Zhengting kicked him across the face. Ziyi himself had a bruise on his thigh, but he wasn’t worried about that. It was Xukun he was worried for. Ziyi was angry because it seemed like wherever Zhengting went, whatever he did, he was always hurting Xukun. Leaving him all those years ago, basically shutting him out now that he was back, and now even trying to beat the shit out of him, Ziyi wasn’t happy about that.

He understood him, of course. When Zhengting came to apologize to him the next day, he took it without much resentment. Just told him to explain from the start and listened to Zhengting’s description of Chengcheng’s background. He couldn’t stay angry at him for too long after that.

But it was still just Xukun. He didn’t know a thing about what he was trying to do with him. Ziyi had heard the sounds from their dorm room that night, and had crept away to sleep in the living room sofa instead. Then, in the morning, he was woken up by Zhengting’s shuffling out of their room and into one of the bathrooms. It wasn’t too hard to figure out what had happened the night before.

Xukun stared at his hands for so long, Ziyi almost regretted asking. But he knew Xukun, and he waited patiently until he finally admitted, “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

Xukun stared down at his hands in his lap again, “I mean… you know… I’m sure you know what happened.”

Ziyi nodded. He did.

“I don’t think we were quiet enough… which I guess was good because I wouldn’t want you guys walking in on us or anything but… I don’t know? He left in the morning even before I could say anything to him and I didn’t do anything to get him back. We haven’t really talked about it.”

“Have you guys talked at all?”

“Well, barely. It’s just awkward, sort of. I don’t know, but I feel like something’s changed? Like it doesn’t feel like we’re trying to kill each other anymore.”

Ziyi smiled, “You weren’t trying to kill each other before either.”

“Yeah, but I mean like… sometimes he just looks at me, you know. And I look at him back and we just stare at each other for a second or two before we go back to what we’re doing. Weird thing is that I don’t feel so horrible about it anymore. Well, I do, but it just feels like I should be looking instead of avoiding him.”

Ziyi scooched over and put a hand on Xukun’s shoulder, “Is that it?”

His voice was gentle for a reason, because he knew that that wasn’t all there was to it. Xukun laced his fingers together tightly and there was another long moment before he admitted, “I feel like I took advantage of him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, on the day Chengcheng came back, Zhengting was crying, and I saw him. I feel like I should have sent someone else, maybe called Wenjun over or something, but I went over instead. He looked at me and hugged me… and I kissed him.”

Ziyi hummed. Xukun went on, “I wasn’t even thinking, it just felt like the right thing to do at the time, but now that I’m thinking more, I don’t think it was.” He tightened his hands into fists, “It’s even worse cause then we fucked. We didn’t even talk through the entire thing. Zhengting was just crying the entire time and… and... I don’t even know… he just left.”

He took a deep shaky breath, “It was my fault isn’t it? Just say it was.”

Ziyi put his head on his arms, head at Xukun’s level, “You should talk to him.”

Xukun looked up.

“Talk to him, it’ll make you feel better.” he pauses, tasting the words in his mouth with added caution, “It’s not me who need right now, it’s him.”

Xukun stares at him, almost surprised, and in this light, he could just be any wide eyed kid: too hurt, too scared, unsure of what to do with his first love. 

_ First love _ he rolls the words around in his mouth, catching himself before he can say it. They aren’t the words that Xukun needs right now.

***

Ziyi leans back, hand dangling off the headrest of the chair, frowning at the paper he’s held up under the light. 

Xingjie wasn’t kidding when he said that Byun Baekhyun was mysterious as hell. He’s been reading the little data they have on him for the past fifteen minutes and he can’t even conjure up a picture of what this dude is like. 

Byun Baekhyun. A former ace of SM. Trained for barely a year before he was at the top of the socialite department. Took out countless heads of JYP, CUBE, YG in an escort style assassination before they could even catch on what was happening. Then, just as quickly as he came into the field, he disappeared, promoted to some higher up official and then was never seen again. 

This was before any of them entered SM to train, including himself, Yanchen, Yanjun, and Xingjie, the ones who had been around for the longest in their year. It was surprising because unlike Chanyeol, Suho, or Yixing, to his knowledge no one had ever heard of this Byun Baekhyun person. It was like he was some puppeteer behind the scenes, silently pulling strings to manage the huge corporation that was SM. And he wasn’t even the head of it; even the boss Suho was more well known. Somehow, the fact that they virtually had zero information on him made him scarier, as if the unknown aspect of him could increase how fearful Ziyi was of what he could mean for them.

And now, he was supposedly coming for them.

He groaned, crumpling the page slightly. There seemed to be too many threats weighing down on them all of a sudden. It was already bad enough that they’ve been blacklisted by an actual entire organization, JYP. Though he was relieved when Chengcheng busted himself and Justin out, Bingbing’s threats to him hung dangerously over their heads. And Yanjun’s assassination of Hendery Huang. He was glad it finally happened-- Zhangjing deserved at least that much-- but it would only add to the suspicion they raised when they broke Zhangjing out of that one SM base.

Maybe he should get up and stop poring over these pages. They wouldn’t yield any more useful information, and he could use this time to do some more rifting on data with the techies, or training with Yanchen and Zeren. Or maybe, he should go check up on their agents: Ruibin had recently gotten tasered on a mission with Dinghao and Xiao Gui, and the latter apparently almost freaked out from how stressed he was with getting him out of whatever mission he was in. It wouldn’t hurt to check on Justin and Chengcheng again, even if Chengcheng seemed overly hostile with anyone except for his little group again. Or, hell, maybe he should just go on a mission himself to go find more info for what was going to come, instead of sitting on his ass all the time…

His thoughts whirred around in his mind as he spun almost angrily in the chair, eyes grazing along the room. He was so lost in them that it wasn’t until he had spun a good number of times that he noticed the boy standing in the doorway.

Jeffrey, with his puffy hair, blank expression, and round wire rimmed glasses on his face, holding a plate of peeled apples.

He stared at him, and Jeffrey stared back. Ziyi cleared his throat awkwardly, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed that Jeffrey had caught him spinning around like a child. “Hey Jeffrey.”

Jeffrey didn’t say anything, just stared at him more. It only made Ziyi more embarrassed. “Uh, thanks for the apples.”

Jeffrey took a couple steps forward and set the apples down on the tables. Then, he walked briskly over to him, Ziyi watching him come closer and closer, until he stopped directly in front of him and reached a hand behind his head. Ziyi dipped his head down as Jeffrey lightly tugged on his braids, then spun around so that his back was facing Jeffrey. As he readjusted himself, he felt Jeffrey pull the elastic out of his hair, then the movement of his fingers as he began to redo the braids.

“Your hair is messy.” he finally said. Like the rest of him, his voice was a little dazed, though at the same time, full of purpose and the feeling like he understood more of Ziyi than he thought was necessary. 

“It’s not that bad” he defended, hands drumming on his thighs, “It’s worse on missions.”

“No.” he reminded him, “On missions you tie it super tight so that it won’t move around at all.”

Briefly taken aback by how he could notice something as insignificant as that, Ziyi said, a little stupidly, “It’s still not that bad.”

They simmered in silence for a few moments, as Jeffrey gently rebraided his hair and looped it back into a ponytail. When he felt the last elastic pull into place, Jeffrey spoke again, “Should we go on a mission?”

“What?”

“A mission. Like a smaller one. One of those basic assassination things that company heads drop an unreasonable amount of money for. To take out a business rival or something.”

Ziyi spun back so he was facing him. “We’re not short on money.”

“Yes, but you’re stressed. I can tell.”

“I’m not.” he defended, “We just have a lot of things to do and I don’t think I should spend time to go on missions that aren’t important and where I get overpaid by people who think killing is the hardest thing in the world.”

Jeffrey stared at him until he felt uncomfortable to ask, “What?”

“I wish you could hear yourself now. You’re so stressed and you can’t even tell.”

“I’m not!”

“You are.”

Ziyi shut up then. He could never seem to find any more words to say when Jeffrey spoke in that tone, eyes wide and peering right into him, as if he could see right through him. 

Jeffrey continued, “Let’s go on a mission. I already convinced Linong and Chaoze to give us this one. It’s super simple, really. Just a normal break in into a mansion two hours away-- if we take the jet car-- to take out the woman who lives in it. They’re even distracting her with a prostitute, and I think we--” he cut himself off when he saw Ziyi staring at him, “What?”

“It’s just, I haven’t heard you talk this much in one go since like… since ever.”

Jeffrey stared back. Ziyi swallowed, “Ah, no, it’s not bad. I’m just a little surprised, that’s all. So you want to go?”

“No, but I know you  _ need _ to go.” he corrected. He pulled the rolled up pink sleeves of his sweatshirt back over his forearms.

“Okay then.” he agreed. He couldn’t argue with Jeffrey when he was using this tone, in this context. “Doesn’t Xingjie want you and Xiao Gui to start pulling up info though?”

Jeffrey shrugged, “I can finish the work later. Xiao Gui and Xinchun are gonna be fine for now, even if Dinghao is gonna mooch in the corner and spit horrible jokes and stare at Xinchun’s flustered face. Are we gonna go or not?”

Ziyi stared for a moment more before nodding and pushing himself up. Jeffrey pat him once on the arm before turning and walking out the door, presumably to prepare whatever technology he would need to break into a basic security system. 

Ziyi ran one hand lightly over his hair, feeling the tight, even braids under his fingertips. For some reason, his stomach felt weird, like there was some bird inside flapping all around inside him.

Xukun had asked him if he liked Jeffrey, and he knew he didn’t. But as he walked out the door to go change into his darker agent clothing, he couldn’t stop replaying the feeling of his hands in his hair, the gentle intensity he had when he looked into him like he could see exactly what he was feeling and what he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok again i love yikun but in this story jeffrey and ziyi are way nicer
> 
> also frick i wanna write more fics but I wanna devote myself to this one but also rnfjieoufnj i wanna write one specifically for one ship. tell me which one you would want to see and maybe ill write on it :))


	49. Xukun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, basically ANOTHER filler but hey we need some nicer zhengkun

In hindsight, Xukun should have really thought it through better before pulling open the door to the training center with the row of treadmills along the back and all the workout equipment. Because now he’s standing awkwardly in the doorway, mouth slightly open, and staring stupidly at Zhu Zhengting’s figure loping along on a moving treadmill.

Zhengting notices him at once, turning his pretty eyes in his direction, not saying hello or anything, but just staring back. Xukun isn't surprised, really. Zhengting can tell he’s coming from a mile away.

But even if he is expecting it, nothing detracts from the fact that as soon as Zhengting’s eyes are fixed on his own, all the words seem to collapse on top of each other in his throat, sucking all the moisture from his mouth until he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to talk again. So instead he licks his lips, swallows hard, and, clenching down hard inside, steps inside the room and kicks the door shut behind him.

Zhengting raises his eyebrows at the sound of the door closing, hand going up to press a button on the treadmill, and Xukun watches as he slows down enough to hop off.

Really, he didn’t prepare himself at all. When Ziyi told him to go talk to Zhengting, he had thought it a good idea; Ziyi usually had pretty good advice, and Xukun was prone to fucking up if he didn’t take it. But even Ziyi probably didn’t mean  _ go talk to him now, without thinking about anything you’re gonna say or anything you want to do _ . He also probably didn’t expect Xukun to feel this tiny as Zhengting slowly makes his way to him.

Xukun swallows again. As the stony faced head of the Retributation, he isn’t usually the subject to an emotion as silly as  _ nervousness _ . But Zhengting has always been the thing that can crack that, and right now, with his sweaty, pretty face and impassively gorgeous expression, Xukun can feel his heart beat in his throat.

To his surprise, Zhengting doesn’t stop in front of him. Instead of the staredown he was expecting, Zhengting tips forward, eyes darting to his hair, and hand reaching out to brush something out of his bangs. 

Anyone could think that nothing had happened, Xukun thinks, as Zhengting frowns at the bright orange thread he pulls from his hair. Nothing had happened at all instead of the three weeks of awkward, brooding near-silence from both of them. 

Zhengting certainly thinks so, because he says, offhandedly, “How did you get orange thread in your hair?”

Xukun swallows for the third time, “Isn’t it super normal to get things caught in your hair?”

“Yeah, but not orange. You never wear orange.” Zhengting flicks the thing away and fixes his eyes on his again, this time peering into him, as if he was purposely searching for some significant answer Xukun can’t come up with.

“Y-Yanchen. He’s wearing an orange hoodie today.”

Zhengting sighs, “Oh yeah. I forgot. He’s trying to cheer Chengcheng up by wearing orange. Says that the pun is too funny to miss. I don’t think Cheng has even noticed the colour.” 

Xukun watches as a drop of sweat rolls down from Zhengting’s soft brown locks and into the white headband around his head. “Is Chengcheng feeling any better?”

“As better as staring at Justin’s body every day and having to get me to tell him that he has to eat can go.” he says dryly, and Xukun inwardly kicks himself for asking. Zhengting gives a little shrug, then turns away quickly as if to hide the sudden flash of sorrow Xukun caught in his eyes.

He clears his throat awkwardly, arms itching to reach forward to comfort him. Comfort Zhengting, who blames himself for Justin and Chengcheng’s states, and who’s so strong he can’t even tell when it’s okay to not be. Who beat himself up for pushing Wenjun, even though Xukun knows that there’s no one in the world who wouldn’t forgive and love Zhengting. Who moans into his ear when Xukun touches him at that one spot he doesn’t ever think he’ll forget. Who Xukun took advantage of when he was the most vulnerable, and who he doesn’t want to hurt again. 

Xukun lowers his arms.

“What were you doing running on the treadmill? I thought Mubo made it clear that he wanted you to rest up completely before exerting your legs again.”

Zhengting laughs, the sound tinkling around the room. It’s enough to make Xukun’s heart pound hard in his chest, even more than he thought was possible before. “Did you think I would listen to him?”

Xukun catches the shadow of a grin at the corner of Zhengting’s mouth, and smiles, “I don’t think you listen to anyone.”

Zhengting turns around. His eyes are slightly red rimmed, but Xukun pretends not to notice. “You know me so well. Want to help me stretch a little?”

Xukun nods before he can stop himself, and together, they make their way to an array of yoga mats near the front of the room. 

Zhengting has always been naturally flexible, Xukun knows that. He can bend his body in impossible ways when he’s fighting, and it usually throws their opponents off with how graceful he is. So he’s not surprised when he drops down into a perfect split on the first mat, more so just annoyed that he would call this “a little stretch”.

Xukun settles on another mat beside him, spreading his legs as far as they’ll go and reaching forward. His thighs scream in pain, but he doesn’t want to look pitiful in front of Zhengting’s fluid form, so he grits his teeth instead. 

Zhengting looks up, sweaty brown hair falling over the headband and into his eyes, “I never asked. How do you get the power and water around here?” he raises his eyebrows, “I bet the bills are terrible.”

Xukun laughs, “Do you think we could get away with actually paying for power and water and electricity? They’d report us at once to some crooked official and we’d be stumped.”

“So how do you get utilities in this huge place?”

“Xiao Gui.” he explains, pulling his feet into him and rubbing them softly, “He hooked up some wire system to the nearest power line and we just leech off it. Same goes for electricity. For water, him and Zhangjing hacked into the water company the person who lived here before used, and basically wiped out any traces that we’re still using it.” He reached over before he can stop himself and rubs a lock of Zhengting’s hair between his fingers, “How did you guys manage all those years?”

Zhengting doesn’t look bothered at the feeling of Xukun’s hands, nor does his voice betray anything when he speaks about the times that he left him for his group of rag-tag children, “We didn’t for the first year or so. Justin, Quanzhe, Zeren, and I basically just bought bottled water for the water we needed, and we just didn’t use a lot of electricity. We just slept in our jeep for most of the time, and got the fuel for the jeep from any nearby gas station. When Wenjun came, it got a little more cramped, because Quanzhe and Justin started to grow like crazy as well. But when we found Xinchun, Justin stumbled across a shitty abandoned gas station and wouldn’t leave. Xinchun rewired the electricity panel, and no one ever showed up to give us bills or anything. We had running water too from the bathroom sink, and from a tap on the side of the station.” He suddenly presses his face into his leg, almost embarrassed that he’s sharing so much. Xukun supposes that he should feel bitter that he was never a part of this segment of Zhengting’s life, but all he feels is curiosity. 

“Taking care of Justin and Quanzhe and Zeren all alone for an entire year.” he groans loudly, “I bet it was a nightmare before Wenjun came along.”

Zhengting shoots up. There’s that same thread of childish indignance Xukun had always cherished with him, that he rarely gets to see now that they’re older and have too many responsibilities and pressures. But for the moment, he leans back on his arms, grinning like a fool as Zhengting begins to rant, “It was! Zeren and Justin argued nearly every single day, fighting each other for something as stupid as getting the last mantou or baozi! They never actually ate it in the end too! They always gave it to Quanzhe to finish off but they just liked seeing me be flustered at them fighting again! When Wenjun came, I thought they were going to scare him off with how they terrorized him at first. In the first week after he came with us, Justin wouldn’t stop trying to get him to fall in the dirt or touch something really gross. Wenjun grew up in a super clean, super rich family, and he only studied as a medical school student in those super sterile hospitals only the crazy rich people can afford. Justin lobbed a stinking fish head he found at the side of the road at Wenjun’s head, and Wenjun couldn’t stop retching for two hours!”

Zhengting cuts himself off, panting slightly. He looks up and seems to realise that he was ranting from the lazy grin Xukun is undoubtedly boasting on his face. “I was rambling, was I?”

Xukun laughs again, “It’s nothing I haven’t experienced. Tell me about Wenjun. You said that he’s the third son of the Bi Pharmaceutical Conglomerate?”

Zhengting quirks his head at him, pulling his legs around so that he’s sitting normally instead of stretching. He’s so beautiful, Xukun thinks, so effortlessly gorgeous and it’s so damn unfair how he’s still making his chest hurt with just how much he is. “Yeah. We found Wenjun sitting on a bench just staring at the road. Just in time too, because he was apparently just getting his last bit of freedom before he was going to be whisked off to his engagement party his family was forcing him into with one of their most powerful business partners. Explained why he was dressed so nice, with a handsome suit and how handsome he is. He must have also been feeling pretty sentimental, because he told us when we asked him why he was so lonely outside. He jumped into our car almost right away too when I told him to get in, didn’t even think before agreeing to run away with us.”

“Seriously? A son of a billionaire just agreeing to get into a shady car filled with three screaming children and a tornado like mom?” He smiles sheepishly at him, feeling almost overwhelmed when Zhengting smiles back with his dazzling grin.

“Yep. He must have been at least slightly crazy to join us. Desperate too. Wenjun is so strong; he would have actually committed to marrying himself off for his family and quitting medicine altogether if we didn’t show up.” his voice takes on a slower, more quiet tone, “Thank god we did. He needed us, and I don’t know what I would do without him. He’s been my support for all the tough moments.”

Xukun feels like there’s more to Wenjun than just being the son of a billionaire, but seeing the expression on Zhengting’s face, he decides not to pursue it. Instead, he clears his throat.

“I’m glad you did too. I bet he was a good support system.”

Zhengting stares at him, and Xukun realizes too late how hollow his previously light voice suddenly sounds. He tries to open his mouth to say something funny, something sheepish that will cover up his mistake, but Zhengting’s eyes are so damn wide and knowing and dark that he can’t find the words anymore.

“Xukun?” he asks gently, peering into Xukun, “Are you jealous?”

Xukun opens his mouth again, but shuts it almost immediately. He wants to say no, wants to show Zhengting that it’s not a big deal, what’s creeping deep inside him, but the idea tastes bad on his tongue and he can’t speak at all.

Zhengting puts a hand on his leg, gently. “You shouldn’t have to be. I love Wenjun, but it’s not in the way you’re thinking.” He pulls himself a little closer, so that he’s frowning directly in Xukun’s face. “He’s my kid.”

“I am.” he says belatedly. The honesty feels strangely good.

“Thought so.” Zhengting peers into his eyes again, like he’s looking right through him.

Xukun wants to kiss him so badly. To cup his pretty face in his hands and pull it into his so that he can press his mouth against his pretty lips and never let go. He wants to tug on Zhengting’s hair and suck marks onto his neck and lace his fingers into his. He wants to laugh with him, talk with him, sleep with him, fight with him, all the time. But he remembers the way Zhengting had fallen into his arms, broken into pieces, and how instead of putting him back together, Xukun took him for himself and used him in the way he wanted so badly. Always selfish-- take, take, take. And he doesn’t.

What he does do, is nothing at all. Zhengting brushes a strand of hair out of his eyes, fixated on a spot somewhere above his brow bone, and Xukun can’t tear his eyes away from how he looks at this particular moment. So pretty and so strong and everything Xukun has ever wanted. 

“I’m sorry for almost killing you.” he says simply, still not meeting Xukun’s eyes. It takes a moment to register with him; that’s how little he actually cares of Zhengting beating him so hard he almost broke his nose and he almost blacked out from how hard he was pressing down on his throat.

“Don’t be.” he says back, just as simply, “I’m sorry for letting Chengcheng go and not listening to you.”

This time, Zhengting does meet his eyes. “You’re not sorry for that. You would have done anything to get me back safe.” 

Xukun marvels at how easily Zhengting can still see through his lies, “I’m not.” 

But it isn’t until Zhengting reaches up again, unfazed by Xukun’s admittance to his lie, brushing another lock of hair out of his vision that the words he really wanted to say come tumbling out, “I’m sorry for taking advantage of you.”

Zhengting doesn’t even make a move that he heard him at all. He just continues to brush the hair out of his eyes, and maybe. Maybe that’s enough anyways. For now it’s enough.

Xukun leaves the training room half an hour later, feeling lighter and more refreshed than he had been for weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does that even count as fluff lol
> 
> yanchen in orange here was my inspo:  
> https://www.google.com/search?safe=strict&biw=1396&bih=657&tbm=isch&sa=1&ei=Hxm1XZ2aGpjX-gTrkI-wDA&q=zhou+yanchen+orange+hoodie&oq=zhou+yanchen+orange+hoodie&gs_l=img.3...2548.8152..8293...2.0..0.167.3167.46j1......0....1..gws-wiz-img.....0..0i67j0i131j0j0i24j0i30.9ymHKVvOGdE&ved=0ahUKEwjdpd-0ybvlAhWYq54KHWvIA8YQ4dUDCAc&uact=5#imgrc=lB5q3qhfY6k0NM:


	50. Linong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty to everyone who left nice comments! comments are what keep me going so they're always appreciated :)

As usual, Linong pushes himself up from his bed when he hears Yanjun’s breathing even out, and carefully pulls the covers off of himself as he plants his feet on the wooden floor.

The room is dark, but he’s used to it, so he can still see the outline of the bunk bed beside him and the people in it.

Zhangjing and Yanjun have finally moved back from the hospital wing, a fact that Linong is endlessly thankful for. He missed them, and not only for how they soothed him to sleep each night. He doesn’t let them do that now anyways. 

Surprisingly-- or maybe really unsurprisingly-- Yanjun is on the bottom bunk for a change. Still dressed in a tee shirt and sweats even though he usually sleeps shirtless, slightly propped up but gently snoring, as if he fell asleep while trying to keep completely still. Which, Linong can tell, is probably the case by how he can see the outline of Zhangjing’s messy, curly hair lost in the crook of his chest and arm. 

Zhangjing himself looks better than he did in the medical wing, which Linong is glad for. He’s been doing a lot better with his recovery in the past couple of weeks, and doesn’t have that hollow, lost look in his eyes when he looks at him. Linong even heard him laugh a week ago, when Yanjun complained during lunch about having the same hair colour as the fish they were eating. Linong had grinned, and for a moment, he heard the silly, cackling laughter he had missed hearing so much from Zhangjing. Zhangjing had covered his mouth with his hand almost immediately, but Linong had heard the bubble of happiness, and seeing the unmistakable joy in Yanjun’s gaze later on, he knew he hadn’t imagined it.

Yanjun would do anything to keep Zhangjing the way he was before, Linong knows that, more than anyone else. It’s the reason for why even back at SM, he scared away anyone who looked twice at Zhangjing and once broke every finger of a boy who threatened to strangle him. It’s the reason for why he was the one who cried the most when Zhangjing was hurt, and why Linong doesn’t think he’ll ever not be a little afraid of him when he thinks about what he did to Hendery Huang. It’s the reason for why he’s trying so hard to bring Zhangjing back to them, and for why they’re wrapped around each other on Zhangjing’s bed, tangled in unspoken promises none of them realize they’ve made.

Linong can admit that he’s seen this coming for a long time, but it still doesn’t prevent him from selfishly feeling quietly sad of it all. He was the one who told them that he was fine now with his sleeping problems, and he’s the one who pretends to fall asleep every night so that they can focus on themselves. But there’s still a horribly hollow spot somewhere in his heart when he can’t stop himself from feeling excluded. That he’s not a part of them anymore, and maybe has never been a part of them. It’s selfish, and it’s stupid. They hang out together all the time, and his two best friends care for him more than he ever deserves. But the feeling is still there, and it forces him to climb out his bed each night and go padding up to the roof.

He thinks about this as he pads down the halls and pulls himself up the ladder in the storage room that leads to the roof. Yanjun and Zhangjing deserve to have each other, even if they don’t realize what way yet. There have been other pairings he’s noticed in the past two months Zhengting’s group has been with them. Yanchen and Zeren, for instance. Hard headed, stubborn Zeren colouring up each time Yanchen flirts with him, and Yanchen being too thick headed to even realize that he’s totally and completely enraptured with the shape and form of Zeren’s body. 

Linong feels more lonely than ever.

Well, maybe not. 

He can already see the long, thin body stretched along the slanted roof top as he pushes him up the ladder and into the chilly night air. Wenjun is dressed in a thick coat-- too short still because there was only one coat actually long enough for him but it belonged to Bu Fan-- and has both of his hands underneath his head as he gazes up at the starry sky. As usual, his head jerks to the side when he hears Linong swing himself out of the already open trap door and push it shut with one foot.

Wenjun has his glasses on, the ones Xinchun, Dinghao, and Chaoze brought back for him after an impromptu shopping trip in which Chaoze came back moaning about third wheeling and in which they forgot to buy the coat that Wenjun actually needed. Though their edges shine under the dim moon, the glasses do nothing to hide how handsome he really is. Not that Linong can appreciate it the way he wants to; years of work being a socialite and escort, thinking about motives, beauty, sex, love has taken the glow off things like that. He’s a monster, he’s grown comfortable to that idea. If all the men and women who fawned over him during parties and later on in their beds could tell that much about him, they would be repulsed. But they couldn’t, and they got their throats slit as payment.

“They slept pretty fast tonight.” Wenjun comments, propping himself up on one arm, “I thought I’d have to wait for half an hour more at  _ least _ .”

Linong settles in beside him, “Yanjun was really cuddly today, I think. He let Zhangjing complain about how stuffy he was being and then pretended to fall asleep. I think that Zhangjing didn’t want to move and wake him up so he fell asleep faster than usual. And Yanjun can actually fall asleep in less than twenty seconds when he knows that Zhangjing’s safe.”

Wenjun chuckles, “And you watched them, as usual.”

“No.” Linong corrected, “I listened to them bicker around until they slept. I’m not that creepy.”

“But you didn’t join in on them, and you pretended that you were asleep. So you are.”

Linong shakes his head lightly to unseat the fringe of black hair at the top of his vision. “I don’t want them to worry about me.”

“I know.” Wenjun sighs, “How was work today?”

“You patched me up.”

“Yeah, I know. But you didn’t tell me how it  _ was _ .”

Linong turns on his side so that he’s facing Wenjun, “Same as always, I guess. Didn’t have to kill anyone today and got another random contact name. Maybe that even makes it better.” He adds on that last part quietly, perhaps just for himself.

Wenjun catches it anyways, “We all have to kill eventually. We’re fucked up like that.” He sits up. “I’ve killed people in the past too.”

Linong is surprised by this confesison, “You?”

“Mmm. Just a couple times. More for self-defense but still. Then one time I shot some druggie in the back when he leapt on Xinchun.”

“That barely counts.” But Linong knows that both of them know that it does. 

Silence for a couple of seconds. “Have I ever told you how I got to be with Zhengting?”

Linong shakes his head, “Other than the part about getting picked up at the side of the road, no.”

Wenjun hums, “I grew up in an atypical family. You know, son of a billionaire and stuff.”

Linong nods, remembering what Wenjun told him about being the son of Bi Pharmaceutical Conglomerate.

“I wasn’t the favourite child by any ends. Not the hated one either. I was just… third in line. Just there. My dad had too many kids.” Wenjun lets a long breath of air out, Linong watching the cloudy steam dissipate in the cold night air. “Not the heir or the bastard or the smartest or the troublemaker. I was just… there for most of the time, and pretty. That’s probably why I was still in the top for the list of favourite kids, because they thought I’d be good to make deals or whatever.”

Linong hums, “You are pretty. You’d make a great escort or socialite.”

“Would I?” Wenjun chuckles, looking at him fondly, “Well, anyways. That’s exactly what they did. Kept me close and taught me how to behave, how to act, how to flirt, maybe all the stuff that you had to learn. Showed me off to their rich friends and always made sure to dress me up during parties. To let them know how pretty I was, you know? And set me up on so many dates so that I could charm the hell off the daughters and sons of their other rich friends or investors. And actually, there was one girl who I kept getting set up with. I thought I might actually be betrothed to her.”

“Were you?”

“No. I got engaged to her dad.”

Something dark twists inside of Linong, that someone as pretty and gentle as Wenjun would get pawned off that easily to some creepy, rich, old man. But he’s seen shit like this so many times it doesn’t (or shouldn’t at least, judging by the odd feeling in his chest) leave a dent anymore. All he can muster is a soft, “What the hell.”

Wenjun sighs, “Yeah, yeah, yeah I know. Rich people are messed up. He’d apparently set up so many dates with me and his daughter so that he could get a better look at me and spend time with me without me thinking he was gross or something. Not an amazing plan.”

“And?”

“They told me one day and that was that. They pulled me out of medical school and residency I was doing. Let me see the wedding plans and got a suit tailored for me. Made me spend time with the guy, even if they knew he was a creep for lusting after his daughter’s pseudo-boyfriend. It sucked-- the girl hated my guts-- but that’s just how the business world works. By marrying me off, they could gain access to a whole new branch of drugs and hospitals. A fair trade.” Wenjun kicks a loose tile off the roof. The clink as it hits the ground below echoes through the air.

“How’d you get away?” Linong asks, “Did you run away?”

Wenjun smiles, “Barely. All I did was walk out my dressing room on the day of my wedding for a breath of fresh air. My mother understood; see, I was the good son for so many years. She never would have thought that I would run away. And honestly, I probably wouldn’t have. My intention was just to get out to breathe one more time, feel my freedom for one more moment before I was to be paraded off like a trophy wife for that sick bastard. I don’t even think I had any ideas of running away, until Zhengting pulled up in his old jeep and kicked dirt all over my face.”

“Sounds like Zhengting to stop randomly for some lost kid at the side of the road.”

“Yeah. Apparently, Justin saw me first and basically forced him to stop, even if they were driving through a street in the rich part of the city that was sure to have mafia groups and rich informants everywhere. He stopped and rolled down the window and asked me what was wrong, and I told him the truth.”

Linong raises his eyebrows. Wenjun notices it and shrugs.

“I was feeling sentimental. Pretty desperate, really. Enough to spill my entire life story to a random pretty stranger in a shady jeep with three tussling kids in the back. I told them, and Zhengting asked me if I wanted to leave, and that’s when I realized that I did. I wanted to leave and leave everything behind me and take this risk. Anything was better than whatever future I had in front of me. Anyways, I doubt Zhengting would let me go no matter what I said. Most people, him included, don’t think marrying a nineteen year old to a fifty year old creep is a good idea.”

Linong sees the fondness in his eyes then, the slight crinkling at the edges of his face that show that this really is a good memory for him. The moment that he decided to join Zhengting and run off with his group of misfits, leaving all the wealth and confinement and solitude behind. Linong has to admit that he’s impressed; most of the rich bastards he’s slept with aren’t like that, and he likes it.

Wenjun continues after a long pause, eyes glazing over the dark horizon, “Zhengting saved me. Without him, I don’t know what would have happened. I think I would do anything for him. He’s-he’s everything to me.” 

A cold hand seems to close around Linong’s heart as he looks at Wenjun, his sad eyes raking over the plains, the slight fond smile that adorns his face, the way his shoulders slump and tighten up as if he’s acknowledging something he selfishly wishes wasn’t true, but just is. And just like that, Linong confirms what he’s thought for a very long time.

“Wenjun.” He asks gently, “Do you love Zhengting?”

There are no tears in Wenjun’s eyes as he turns to him, no hesitation as he answers, like he’s known the answer for a very long time and is merely confirming with a fact, “Yes.” He looks away again, into the deep distances of the sandy hills where the sky meets the land, “But there’s no point anyways. I know that he doesn’t feel the same way, and will never feel the same way. He’s still so hopelessly in love with Xukun, even if both of them don’t want to realize it, and even if Xukun has hurt him the most out of the people on the face of this planet. Do you remember, Linong, how I told you that Zhengting doesn’t sleep well either? He’s not like you, where he just can’t fall asleep. In fact, he sleeps fast if he wants.” he gives a little laugh, evidently thinking of the little nuances Zhengting must have, “But he wakes up. Nightmares. He wakes up shaking and screaming because he dreams of all of us getting hurt or torn apart in front of him, but also, because he sees Xukun in his dreams, and each time, he can’t have him again.”

Wenjun stops talking and goes back to staring at the distance, a small smile on his face. 

What a sad world, Linong thinks, what a sad world this is, that Wenjun is destined to love the one person that would probably never love him back. What a horribly twisted world it is that Wenjun has to live with the knowledge that he’ll never have the person he wants the most, and can only love him unconditionally in the way he can. That a person like Wenjun-- handsome, smart, talented, kind Wenjun-- is in love with Zhengting.

Linong turns his face to the distance and stares with Wenjun, sinking in the awful tranquility the night air has taken on, the knowledge that all of Wenjun’s little glances, his little gestures, his words and arms and care he’s noticed over the past few months are for a means he can never have. 

He wonders why it hurt so much.

Somewhere along staring into the distance and basking in his thoughts, Linong lies back down and feels the now familiar touch of Wenjun’s fingers in his hair, combing and smoothing it over in the way only Wenjun knows how. And somewhere in between sadness and twisted happiness, Linong falls asleep, lost with the emotions he didn’t expect to feel bubbling hot under his skin.

That is, until Wenjun is shaking him awake with an urgent voice and panicked hands and points to the glowing white lights in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sad boi hours


	51. Zhengting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crappy chapter sorry >:3  
> god i miss npc

Zhengting is awake and climbing out of his top bunk even before Zeren has finished shaking him.

“What. What. What.” he repeats, the deafening shriek of sirens booming in his ears. Zeren is already clambering down over the side of the bunks, jumping to the ground without regard for the ladder. Zhengting winces.

“Jesus, Zhengting. Sirens are fucking going off and you’re not freaking out? Let’s go. I heard yelling outside.” Zeren goes over to Quanzhe, who somehow is still sleeping with his head under the covers even with all the noise, and roughly handles him until he’s awake. As Quanzhe begins to whine and Zeren begins to urgently half-yell at him, Zhengting tears open the door. 

Standing in the doorway, he can see that something is wrong. The hallway lights are bright like they would be in the day, instead of the soft blue-yellow lights that line the floor and ceiling at night. The intercom mounted against the wall is screaming to pierce through the sound-proof doors and walls. There are other people pulling open doors and scrambling out, including Xukun, who Zhengting sees running towards him, arms tight and face blazing.

“Zhengting!” Xukun calls even before he’s reached him, “Invasion! SM!” He turns to the rest of the confused agents and bellows, “Everyone to defensive positions!”

They hurry off, hands slipping into pockets and reaching into cupboards for guns, knives, bulletproof vests, anything to defend themselves with.

“Hurry! Nong is holding the first crop off by himself in the front! Ziyi is going to assist but we need more support!” Xukun yells again, and Zhengting can see Ruibin and Lingchao turn from their original paths to sprint for the stairs that lead to the front door. “Yanchen! Take someone and go check on Bu Fan and Yue Yue! Make sure Park Chanyeol is detained!”

Yanchen nods from where he’s slipping a short blade into his belt, and almost at the same time, Zeren pushes past Zhengting, already dressed and with a headband under his hair, blades tucked between his fingers. He doesn’t even pause to ask before he yanking Yanchen by the shirt and taking off for the basement. Zhengting has half a mind to call him back, the protectiveness bubbling under his skin, but they’re faster than he can speak, and Xukun is looking at him in a way that calls for more attention anyways.

Xukun gazes at him, eyes fiery, and reaches for him. His fingers graze his arm, burning in their wake, and Zhengting asks, “What’s going on?”

“Break-in. Nongnong and Wenjun sounded the alarm and said that there was a hoard of cars coming our way. Recognized them as SM vehicles. They’re already in the courtyard and Nongnong and Ziyi are fending them off.”

Zhengting’s blood runs cold, “Wenjun too?”

Xukun’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, but it’s gone almost immediately, “Yeah. He was with Nong on the roof for some reason. I don’t know where he is now.”

He wonders when Wenjun and Nongnong became good friends and how he didn’t notice Wenjun slipping away to go up to the roof. “Fuck.”

Xukun sees his expression and clutches his arm harder, “Don’t panic. Wenjun is gonna be fine. Nongnong would protect him, and now he has Ziyi and Ruibin and Ling Chao too.” He pauses for a moment before continuing, “I’ll go too if it’ll make you feel better.”

Relief floods his body, and Zhengting thinks that he could kiss him, “God, yes please. Thank you Xukun.” He leans in a little, head almost touching his, “I’ll come with-”

“Zhengting-ge! Justin and Cheng!” Xinchun’s voice gasps somewhere behind him, and just like that, the moment is broken as a new ripple of awful fear rips through him at what he means.

Justin and Chengcheng. Alone and virtually defenseless in the hospital wing.

Zhengting doesn’t wait then. He grabs Xinchun hard by the arm and drags them down to sprint for the hospital wing, Quanzhe pattering after them. He can feel Xukun’s stare burn into his back as he turns away from him again, but for now, all he can think about is Justin’s limp body hooked up to that machine and Chengcheng’s lifeless eyes and how there suddenly seems to be too many voices in this mansion. 

“Ge-” Xinchun gasps as they race down the stairs, but his words are cut off by an awful scream and a sickening crash from downstairs. “I need- I need to check on-”

“Shut up Xinchun.” Zhengting growls, pulling him down the stairs, “You’re not fucking leaving my sight during an SM break in.”

“But-” he argues at first, but this time Zhengting doesn’t need to cut him off. Because as they round the corner to go down the second flight of stairs, they’re surprised by a group of too tall and too muscular agents in standard SM drab.

At times like these, Zhengting is infinitely glad that he was the Ace at SM. As they spring out of nowhere, Zhengting can be just fast enough to dodge their hands and swing his legs under them to make them stumble back. At about the same time, Quanzhe darts forward, shoving Xinchun roughly behind him, and pulls out his knife.

Zhengting swears under his breath, because he can’t remember the number of times he’s had to tell Quanzhe to not bring out the knives early. Just as he predicted, at the sight of Quanzhe’s knife, they reach into their jackets and pull out their own, the silver making Zhengting tense up hard and grimace at the now ten-fold degree of danger the situation has taken on. 

He pulls out his own, just in time too because he has to twist his torso to the side before a knife is stabbing towards him. It sinks into the wall and if it was any other company’s agents, or even just normal SM agents, Zhengting would have buried his own knife into the back of the person holding it. But these are SM agents-- well trained ones as well apparently-- and the agent is smart enough to yank out another one instead of taking time to pull it out. 

There's a loud shlick and Zhengting whips around to catch Quanzhe pulling his knife out of the forearm of one of the larger men. A surge of pride runs through him to see his tiny pink haired Quanzhe reduce the tall giant to a howl with a quick sink of the knife, but it’s short lived as another one is barrelling towards him.

Zhengting is faster with this one. He dodges the knife easily and bends his waist around to stab the guy in the back of the neck. Then, as he sinks down, he throws one of his smaller blades into the back of the man fighting Quanzhe. 

A fist collides hard with his face, and Zhengting stumbles back. Downside of being too skinny, he thinks, as he looks up at a hulking giant coming barefisted for him. So he flips to his feet and springs up to lock his legs around the giant’s neck. Swinging back, he’s able to bring him low enough to sink his knife into his leg just as another agent lands a kick against his own side.

He grits his teeth, now twisting off and swinging his leg at the other SM agent. It collides against his head and apparently dazes him enough to send him crumpling to the ground, Zhengting tumbling upon him as he goes. 

Stabbing him now is easy. Zhengting sinks one of his less sharp blades into his chest twice and rolls off in time to dodge the heavy swing the giant is now angrily targeting him with. He stabs at the giant again, but he’s too big and the knife only sinks shallowly into his arm before he’s hit so hard in the stomach he goes tumbling back into a wall.

His head hits the surface hard, and white flashes before his eyes as the giant raises an arm to punch him. Zhengting puts his arms up above him and grits his teeth for the hit, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, there’s  _ Xinchun _ hanging around the giant’s neck, clawing into his eyes.

The giant roars in pain and jerks back, flinging Xinchun to the side. He lands hard on his shoulder, and, face twisting in pain, scrambles to get back up to avoid the way the giant is coming down upon him.

Luckily for him, he doesn’t have to. Zhengting doesn’t know how he moved so fast, but there are two knives in his hands buried into the giant’s skull and he’s swearing so loud he’s sure everyone can hear. 

The blood gushes over his hands, drenching his upper arms, and the giant slumps down. Lost in a haze that he now can realize is  _ anger _ , Zhengting stabs him again and again until Xinchun is yeling that it’s okay, that he’s dead. 

Zhengting drops the knives still buried in his head and doesn’t look again before dashing over to Xinchun and throwing his arms around him.

“Fucking brat.” he growls, “Trying to take down a huge SM agent. Who the fuck do you think you are?” 

Xinchun chuckles, then hisses in pain as Zhengting pushes down on his shoulder, “Ow, fuck. That hurts really bad.”

“Yeah dipshit.” Quanzhe says sarcastically from where he’s sitting on a lightly groaning agent, “That’s cause you landed on it hard.”

Zhengting wants to berate him for insulting Xinchun when he literally saved Zhengting, but Quanzhe is grinning anyways, surrounded by the bodies of five men soaking in their own blood, so he shivers instead. He keeps forgetting just how psychopathic Quanzhe is about killing, and how under that cute face and chubby cheeks, there’s a real monster that he has to control the most out of all of his kids.

“Let’s go. Med wing.” 

Zhengting winces as he pulls him and Xinchun up. There’s a shallow gash running across his waist and a light stab wound in his left arm. But Xinchun isn’t even complaining anymore and judging by the shallow sheen of sweat across his forehead, it hurts just as bad as Zhengting thinks. 

So he runs, instead, down the hall, for the direction of the medical wing, feet thumping against the floor as he hears the sounds of the fights around the mansion drone all around him.

They’re lucky, and no one else tries to stop them. Zhengting sees Yanjun tackle one agent to the floor near the back door, his bladed brass knuckles driving again and again into the screaming man’s face. Zhangjing is slightly behind him, hands tugging at Yanjun’s shirt, screaming for him to stop. Zhengting wants to stop to help whatever’s going on, but there’s the din of a fight somewhere in front of him, where the medical wing is supposed to be.

There’s a suspicious splatter of blood by the corner to the medical wing, a fact that’s explained by the slumped over body right by the double doors. Zhengting kicks the man to a side as he tears the doors open.

“Chengcheng!” he yells, because it’s just as he was afraid of. Somehow, a group of ten men have broken into the medical wing, all SM agents, with five more already immobilized on the ground. They all turn to the sound of his voice, and Zhengting can suddenly see through the gaps between them that in the corner where Justin’s bed is supposed to be, Chengcheng is standing, eyes blazing and dripping with blood, with Justin pinned against the wall behind him, still hooked up to that beeping machine.

It’s moments like these, again, that makes Zhengting not feel like himself. The sight of Chengcheng and Justin, pinned up against the wall like that, with both of them drenched with blood and Cheng barely holding up against a group of skilled SM agents, seems to awaken that carnal rage inside him again. It’s the same fury he felt surge through him when he woke up and almost killed Xukun, just as blinding and just as uncontrollable as it can be.

He leaps on the nearest agent, driving his knife into the center of his skull, gritting his teeth as he hears the skull burst under his hands and the horrified gasps of the other agents. Somewhere near him, Quanzhe seems to be rushing over to where Qin Fen is holding up against another man, Mubo’s limp form behind him, but it doesn’t matter for now. Zhengting jumps off the man as he crumbles to the floor and spin kicks an approaching man in the head. He stumbles back, and Zhengting raises his knife just in time for it to clang against another heavy blade coming down upon him. The other man seems to smile a bit, surveying his slender form, but Zhengting is angry, and he wasn’t the hidden Ace of SM for nothing. He pushes back, watching the smirk wipe off his opponent’s face, as he pins him against the wall with one hand, and stab him in the stomach with the other. 

Chengcheng seems to have finished two others, one bleeding out from his neck on the ground and the other writhing from where Chengcheng’s thrown his knife into his chest. But now he’s gritting his teeth, one arm raised up against another man grinding down on him with a club, one arm holding Justin by the waist. 

Zhengting springs for him, kicking him in the side of the face. A spurt of blood erupts from where he kicks his teeth out, but the man is more resilient than the rest and is only momentarily shaken before he’s lunging forward again. But it’s not for Zhengting. Not Chengcheng either.

The man instead crouches down low and swings his legs hard so that Chengcheng is unbalanced. In the moment that Chengcheng has to regain himself, blood still pouring from somewhere on his side, the man yanks Justin out under his arm and holds a knife against his throat.

“Freeze, or I’ll cut this kid’s throat open so deep, you’ll see his bones.” he snarls, then moves his knife even lower, to where the tubes are connected to Justin’s nose and arms, “Or, I’ll just cut these tubes open. That’ll be a slow death, wouldn’t it?”

Zhengting takes a step forward and the man’s eyes narrow. The knife digs into Justin’s skin. He freezes. 

“Yeah? That’s better.” he smirks, “Hey, Lianjie! Come pin these two down!” 

Zhengting can see the man named Lianjie spring over from where two men are fighting Quanzhe and Qin Fen. “Coming!”

Zhengting grits his teeth. He can’t afford to be restrained, but there isn’t anything he can do, it seems. The knife is still digging into Justin’s skin, and that alone is making him dizzy with fear.

The first man looks down at Justin’s unconscious face, “You guys sure are pretty. Just look at this one. Nice and fresh and young.” He rubs Justin’s cheek and smiles, “Would he even feel it like this?”

The blood boils in Zhengting and for a moment, he thinks,  _ fuck it _ , because he knows that right now, he can be faster than that knife in his hand if the alternative is to see him do whatever he wants to do to his Huang Minghao. He jerks forward, but he’s late.

Because Chengcheng is already there, punching the man so hard in the face, the sound of the bones in his nose shattering is loud and clear. He pummels forward, snatching Justin with his bad arm and pulling him to his chest, roaring as he raises his arm again and again against the man.

Lianjie gives a shout of surprise, but Zhengting’s already slashed his leg, then his throat in the moment he stalls. 

There’s something wrong when he turns to watch Chengcheng and Justin again. While usually Chengcheng is quick, efficient, merciful when he kills, aiming perfectly at the heart, the brain, the throat and finishing things quick, he seems to be dragging it out this time. In fact, he has a small blade out now, and seems to be gouging holes in the other man’s flesh. Never at a vital point, but in his stomach, his chest, his arms, legs, groin, cheeks.

There’s a long, drawn out scream that makes even his hair stand on end, and despite the situation, he’s lunging forward and shrieking, “Cheng! Stop it! He’s dead already!”

Chengcheng shoves him back and just refocuses on the man again, now pinned against the wall with his shoulder and stabbing him again and again. There’s so much blood, and Zhengting almost goes numb watching him and realizing what Chengcheng is going to be like after this.

“Please! Cheng! Look at Justin! He’s soaking with blood! Quanzhe still needs us! Cheng!” 

Chengcheng pauses at the sound of Justin’s name and looks down. Just as Zhengting said, Justin is dripping with Chengcheng and the other man’s blood. He’s barely attached onto the machine that’s keeping his heart beating.

Chengcheng drops the knife and crumples down, wrapping his arms around Justin, entire body trembling. 

Zhengting takes the opportunity to throw a knife into the back of the man that’s fighting Qin Fen, and as Quanzhe buries his knife into the side of the neck of the last man, he spins around and briskly walks towards his kids.

Chengcheng is shaking when he gets there, a mess of blood and sweat and saliva as he pants into Justin’s shoulders. Zhengting crouches, studies him for a second before wrapping him up in a hug.

Because he knows that this is the reason Chengcheng hated his old life so much. That he was nothing more than a sadistic monster that didn’t have a right to live the life a boy his age should be allowed to live. It’s the reason why he never left them. And maybe, though he’s never really thought of it before, it’s the reason for why he’s suddenly crying, howling and sobbing, into Justin’s chest and rocking him back and forth like he’ll never let go again.

Xinchun is pulling a stunned Mubo up from where they were huddling by a bed, and Quanzhe is panting from where he’s sitting on a bed. Qin Fen is leaning against the wall, slicked with sweat and littered with bruises.

But Chengcheng is crying and Zhengting thinks that nothing else matters but to comfort him the best he can, patting his back gently as he holds the three of them together. 

There is screaming, fighting, and later on, sobbing somewhere outside their little bubble. But they still stay there, Chengcheng screaming his sobs into Justin’s shoulders, Zhengting’s heart aching as he thinks about how neither of them ever, would ever, deserve this.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bad ending ha  
> i love chengstin, i promise steamy stuff is coming up :9


	52. Yanjun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yanjun drought and missing zhangdejun got me here

Yanjun is helplessly annoyed when the sirens go off.

“What the fuck.” he groans, shifting his arm lightly and squinting his eyes, “What the fuck.”

A muffled voice comes out from under his arm, “...Yanjun?”

He opens his eyes.

He’s still in Zhangjing’s bed, said boy wrapped up in a blanket under his arm. He’s still dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, and he vaguely remembers keeping them on so that he could climb into his own bunk after Zhangjing fell asleep. Guess he forgot, or just got drowsy. Or maybe, he just got too comfortable and didn’t want to leave. 

The sirens are still going off, and now, there are shouting noises coming through the walls. Yanjun sits up. 

“Zhangjing. Something’s happening.”

He looks over at Nongnong’s bunk, to see it empty. Yanjun frowns, “Wasn’t Nong already asleep?”

Zhangjing is climbing up out of bed now, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and slipping his feet into his boots, “Yes?”

Yanjun stares at the empty bed a moment longer before pulling Zhangjing up, “Probably just had to go to the bathroom. C’mon. Let’s go.”

He’s hit by a swell of noise when he opens the door, and he belatedly remembers that their doors and walls are soundproof. The sirens are deafening, but Xukun’s voice, authoritative and tense, is booming well above it.

“Everyone to defensive positions!” he’s yelling, pointing this way and that. Yanjun sees Zhengting sprinting in the distance, Xinchun and Quanzhe on his tail, and on his other side, Ruibin and Lingchao disappearing down a flight of stairs. At about the same moment Zhangjing is in the light, alert now and tugging at Yanjun’s shirt, Xukun notices them.

“Oi! Yanjun! Zhangjing! Go down to the back door and cover with Xingjie and Ziyang! I think Dinghao’s heading over there too!” 

Yanjun nods, “Where’re you going?”

Xukun doesn’t even look at them before he’s turning and taking off. “Main entrance! Defending with Nong and Ziyi!” he calls, “That’s where the main group is at. SM break in. Stay safe!” Then, he’s gone.

“Nong?” he mutters, glances behind him. Zhangjing looks just as lost as he is, but doesn’t say anything. 

Turning back, he realizes that him and Zhangjing are the only ones left by the dorms. If he wanted to be part of defending the Retributation base, he would have to move fast. 

He spun around again, putting his hands on Zhangjing’s shoulders and crouching down a little so that his face was level with his. Zhangjing opens his mouth in indignation as soon as he sees his expression.

“No, Yanjun.”

Yanjun sighs, “Zhangjing. You can’t defend yourself well, and these are SM agents-”

“I don’t care!” he spits, shoving him in the chest, “I can help out when I can. I can use a knife, you know that!”

“Yes, but they know much better than you do! I just need you to stay here and lock yourself in-”

“Uh huh.” Zhangjing pushes past him and tugs on his arm towards the stairs, “If you leave me here I’ll just go by myself.”

A wave of annoyance rushes over Yanjun and he yanks Zhangjing back towards him and pushes him against the wall. He bends down and snarls, “And get cut up?”

Zhangjing looks back at him, pretty eyes fiery and angry, “Yes. And get cut up. Let’s go, bitch.” He pushes him hard again and takes for the stairs. 

Yanjun swears under his breath.  _ You might not care about getting cut up, but I do _ . But Zhangjing is already at the edge of the stairs and going after him is better than leaving him on his own. So he swears loudly again, enough so that Zhangjing can hear, and runs after him.

Zhangjing waits for him to catch up, then tilts his head back, brown curls bouncing on his head, and smirks. Yanjun glares at him the best he can before overtaking him and grabbing him by the hand. Then, they’re running, running, running down for the back door and where the kitchens and the cafeteria are.

“Hurry up, You Zhangjing!” he pants as they round the corner, more so to show his displeasure that they’re going together and Zhangjing didn’t listen to him and stay behind. Zhangjing pinches the center of his hand.

“Just cause you’re tall.” he calls back, and there’s no bite in his voice. Just a mild sense of pride that should annoy Yanjun, but it doesn’t. It just sends a wave of affection over his entire being for the small, red cheeked, curly haired boy clutching his hand and running along side him. Emotion that he rarely gets to feel, and thus, he tries to hold onto it as long as he can.  _ Happiness _ .

It’s silly, because he’s not supposed to feel that right now when he ought to be yelling at him to stay behind. And he’s definitely not supposed to feel that anyways since his job is about manipulating those emotions out of people while feeling nothing himself. But there’s something that Zhangjing’s always had, even now, even when he was broken and had eyes that hollowed him out wherever he went. He feels it hot in his chest now, and he’s almost afraid. 

Luckily for him, Yanjun doesn’t have to hold onto it long enough to think about it. Just as Xukun predicted, he can hear the din of a fight as he approaches the hallway to the back door. He yanks on Zhangjing’s hand as he pulls him into the cafeteria, past the kitchens, and comes out on the other side to almost be hit by Xingjie’s elbow. 

Apparently, others got here faster. Xingjie is fighting some overly muscular agent, teeth gritted, and Ziyang is stabbing another in the stomach against the floor. Dinghao is here too, glasses askew on his face as he round-house kicks a man in the stomach. But there’s blood staining Xingjie’s shirt from his side, and fresh bruises on Dinghao’s face, and Yanjun only has to survey the group of opposing agents for a second before shoving Zhangjing behind him and lunging forward.

Yanjun’s sadistic, he knows. That’s what they say about him at least, when they comment on the state of the bodies that the infamous Ba-Ge has slaughtered. Beautiful men and women, throats slit to the bone, or two deep wounds in the chest. But if he was to describe his fighting, he wouldn’t say sadistic. He’d say efficient, rough, clean. Really, the only target he’s ever taken care of slowly, ripping through the process bit by bit, was Hendery Huang. And he doesn’t think that can even count from the overwhelming unnatural sense of satifaction he feels when he remembers that night.

He darts forward, cutting one man in the back of the neck, smiling as the blood pours over his fingers and the man yells and stumbles forward. He kicks the middle of his back and spins his leg back to throw him to the side. He twists to the side, sensing a presence on his left, and just as he expected, a long blade comes slicing down on where he was previously. He brings his own knife up and it clangs against the blade as it comes down for another swing. 

He stares the man in the face. He’s quite handsome, with that sort of rugged look that suggests he spent years training in the depths of an SM base, but never reached the top, nor did he ever belong to the bottom. He smirks.

“Baby SM agent?” he taunts, pressing down. The man’s eyes narrow.

“Fucker. Who the fuck are you?”

Yanjun presses down and leans in closer, “Lin Yanjun. Ex-ace of SM’s socialite department.” Then, he pulls back and stabs him in the chest. 

He lets him fall back before he’s being slammed to the wall by another man. He grits his teeth as his head hits the wall, sending a dizzying wave over his consciousness. 

“Maybe you should stop talking so much, pretty boy.” the man in front of him growls, and punches him solidly in the stomach. Yanjun winces as it hits him, but he’s taken more from Yanchen, and he lurches back.

“Nope. Are you nervous?” he pants into his ear, as he knees him hard in the stomach. The man swears and pushes him back.

Yanjun is still dizzy from the previous collision, and him hitting the wall again does nothing to soften it. He barely has time to shake his head a couple times to free the spinning vision in his eyes and turn to a side before the man is coming down on him again, this time with a knife.

“Fuck you.” he spits, throwing himself onto the floor and rolling away before he can come down with it again, “It was fun before you brought in the knife.”

“You should really learn to shut up, coward.” he snarled from somewhere above him, and this time, Yanjun raises his blade in time for it to defend against the one coming down onto him.

In retrospect, lying on the floor probably wasn’t a good idea, because the other man is huge, and Yanjun is decently skinny to keep his model looks. He’s strong for his physique, and Yanchen and Xingjie always challenge him to lift with them, but this man is  _ strong _ strong. There’s a reason for why Yanjun was stunned when he was thrown against the wall. 

He darts his eyes to a side. Xingjie has both of his hands occupied with two agents coming at him, and Ziyang is barely defending himself against a man that is somehow even taller than him, blood seeping through a shallow cut on his arm. Dinghao is busy stabbing one man in the shoulder, so he’s on his own. Yanjun grits his teeth, and is about to push up hard and use the opportunity to roll to the side when he’s suddenly showered with a spray of hot blood.

Yanjun blinks as the force on him lessens, and the man coughs again, the blood spraying across his face. He uses the lull to kick him in the crotch, then flip himself over.

What he sees makes him want to swear again, so he does. “Fuck, Zhangjing! Get out of here!”

Zhangjing’s hands are still clenched around the blade in the man’s upper back, eyes blinking slowly as he realizes what he’s done. His hands are dripping with red, and his shirt is stained, and suddenly, Yanjun is so afraid and angry at the same time. 

He’s afraid, because he’s not sure if Zhangjing is ready for this, and he’s angry, because he spent all of those years making sure Zhangjing would never have to do something like this, and now, he’s went ahead and killed a man for  _ him _ .

Yanjun doesn’t have time for that right now. He yanks Zhangjing by the wrist behind him as he raises his arm above his head to defend against the heavy swing another man is coming down on him with. The pain shoots through his arm, and he grits his teeth, letting go of Zhangjing so that he can grab the arm with his other hand and stab the attacker with his knife. The man makes a sort of gasping sound, but Yanjun doesn’t wait for him to fall before he’s kicking him away. 

“Fucker.” he mutters, staring down at the dying man. Ziyang is kicking another body to the side, and Dinghao is already piling his bodies into a corner. Xingjie is just about finished stabbing the last one in the throat when Yanjun spins around to face Zhangjing again.

“Motherfucker, Zhangjing.” he mutters, pinning the boy to the wall, “I thought I said for you to stay out of this.” He’s careful, afraid, because he is so sure that Zhangjing is going to crack, is going to realize how disgusting all of this is because now he’s killed his first man and  _ god _ , it’s his innocent, pure, cheery-

“Yeah, and watch you get cut up?” Zhangjing retorts, pinching the flesh on his chest. Yanjun jerks back, not because of the touch, but because there is  _ annoyance _ and  _ determination _ in Zhangjing’s eyes, and that isn’t supposed to be there right now.

He sees something else too, in the way his little face is turned up towards him, eyes shining and lips set in a half-pout. Something he can’t be sure about, but that he is so confused about because  _ this was the first time he’s killed someone and how is he not freaking out right now _ .

But he leaves it, because he isn’t sure what it is and Yanjun’s never been the type to try to find out the things he isn’t completely sure about. So he just ruffles Zhangjing’s hair, swearing quietly under his breath as he pulls Zhangjing into him and turns to face the others.

Zhangjing is squirming, but Yanjun forces him to stay in his cage, unwilling to let go of him now, as he turns his head towards a panting Xingjie and asks, “Was that all of them?”

“I think so.” Xingjie pants, leaning back on a bench, “Don’t see anyone else. Think most of them are trying to get through the front.”

Dinghao chooses this moment to butt in, “Ooo, Yanjun’s hugging Zhangjing! Yanjun’s finally being possessive!”

Yanjun ignores him, but Zhangjing fights harder, now telling him to let go of him, but he doesn’t. “Xukun, Ruibin, Ziyi, Nong, and Chaoze are all there, right?”

“Yeah.” Xingjie says, “And Jeffrey and Xiao Gui are trying to shut down some hallways and fuck them up with our tech.”

“What about Zhengting?” He remembers seeing the boy run off in the opposite direction when he poked his head out. As the Ace of SM, shouldn’t he be at the front as well?

“Medical center and side door. Hell, I know what you’re thinking. But if you think we can get Zhengting to not try to protect Chengcheng and Justin, you’re crazy. Did you see what he did to us last time he got mad? Fucking crazy.” Xingjie grins, “We need someone to cover the side door anyways. Chengcheng isn’t enough even if he is pretty good.”

Zhangjing finally succeeds in freeing himself out of Yanjun’s grasp, and he punches him lightly on the arm before spinning around. It shouldn’t matter that Yanjun suddenly notices that there’s a speck of blood on one of his brown curls, but it does for some reason, and he barely hears what Zhangjing has to say as he stares at it.

“What about Yanchen? Is he at the front too?”

Xingjie sighs, “No. Him and Zeren are going to Park Chanyeol, because we’re ninety percent sure that this break in is something because of him, and only stationing Yue Yue or Bu Fan there isn’t enough.”

Zhangjing’s voice raises in pitch, “Wait, so they’re basically on their own for the most important part?”

Xingjie nods, “Yeah. Yanchen and Zeren are  _ good _ , don’t worry about that. They can handle whatever comes at them.”

Zhangjing tucks his chin in, still uncertain, and for some stupid reason, Yanjun feels something in his chest twist a little, “Yeah, but don’t you think it’s weird how there isn’t anyone coming through the back anymore? Are you  _ sure  _ it’s gonna be safe?”

Xingjie shakes his head a little, “No, of course not. But since there aren’t too many people here right now, we can go help Ziyi and Xukun out in the front. There are apparently way more people there than here. Ziyang, Dinghao, can you guys stay here to guard?”

They nod, but Yanjun barely registers it. Instead, he reaches out a hand and pats Zhangjing’s head. His hair is soft under his hands, and Yanjun can’t pull it away until, finally annoyed, Zhangjing twists out of his other arm.

“Geez, what is up with you today?” he bats Yanjun’s hand away lightly, “So touchy.”

And fuck. In the moment he looks up, annoyance painted across his face, Yanjun feels that same twinge in his chest. Except this time, the feeling seems to stay, spreading across his body until everything inside him seems to be one twitchy, jumpy mess. His heart is rattling against his ribcage, and he has to swallow thickly to answer him. And still, he’s unable to tear his eyes away from Zhangjing’s bright gaze.

“Your hair is soft today.”

Zhangjing looks at him for a suspended moment, still annoyed but now slightly surprised, “Thanks?” 

Yanjun nods, looks at him stupidly. Zhangjing is looking curiously up at him, dried blood still on his hands from where he saved Yanjun from before, and in any other circumstance, Yanjun would be casual, snarky, maybe even worried because his best friend just killed someone for the first time and that was the one thing he promised himself he would never let him do. But he’s done it, and though it horrifies him, the fact that he’s not sad or shocked, the fact that he did it for him, is sending a ripple of disgusting  _ pleasure _ over his body that refuses to let go of him. He looks down, burning warmth spreading from his thumping heart, and he wonders,  _ when the hell did looking at Zhangjing feel like this? _

“Guys. Guys.” Xingjie’s exasperated voice cuts in through his thoughts, “I need you guys to go head to the side door. Zhengting probably will need some help eventually.”

Zhangjing breaks the gaze, “Of course. Let’s go Yanjun.”

“Yeah.” he echoes, just a moment late. He looks up to see the hint of smirk disappear from Xingjie’s face, and a wave of annoyance washes over him.

He glares at Xingjie, even if he isn’t sure why it bothers him so much. But based on the shadow of a smile that passes over the other’s face, it only strengthens whatever Xingjie is thinking.

“Cmon, Yanjun.” Zhangjing tugs on his sleeve and pulls him away. Yanjun nods at Ziyang and Dinghao, who wear amused expressions on their faces, before letting himself be dragged away.

“Geez. Spacing out in the middle of a break in by  _ SM _ . I’m gonna tell Kunkun and Nongnong later. They’ll laugh their asses off. I even had to save  _ your _ ass…” Zhangjing mutters, slipping his hand into his as they jog. His hand is warm.

“Mmm.” he says, looking anxiously down at the other boy. Because he’s still scared of what that first kill will do to Zhangjing, and he’s trying to let that feeling cover up the perverse pleasure in his gut.

“You’re not mad?” Zhangjing asks, turning back towards him, eyes wide.

That throws him off, “Why would I be mad?”

Zhangjing bites his lip, “Well… I just killed someone. Aren’t you mad about that?”

Yanjun stares at him incredulously, “Why would I ever be mad at you over that?” He drops his gaze, “If-if anything, it should be you being mad at me. I didn’t want you to-”

“I know.” Zhangjing says, “But I still did it, right? And I’m not sad or mad or anything. You were in trouble and I stepped in. Am I that special that I’m not allowed to do that?”

He stares at him, and Yanjun doesn’t trust himself to think before speaking. “Of course you’re special. You’re-you’re… you’re Zhangjing.”

“That’s not what I meant, stupid.” Zhangjing pinches the inside of his hand.

“Uh huh.” he says back dumbly. Then he swallows, and says more truthfully, “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

The look Zhangjing gives him is long, piercing, and soft all at once. It makes something horrible and wonderful and hot bubble at his throat, and hands to claw at his heart. “I’m not the same Zhangjing anymore, I don’t think so.”

Yanjun wants to argue, but he knows it’s true.

He opts to say something funny, a cold joke maybe, to break the sudden tension between them and to still his churning insides. But he never gets the chance.

Instead, as they pass by a corridor near the back door, a large figure slams out of nowhere, face already bloody, mouth open in a roar as he whams into Zhangjing.

In the moment his hand is torn out from his, Yanjun sees, almost in slow motion, the glint of a blade shining between his fingers, and in the second it takes for his brain to make the connection between it and the raised fist above Zhangjing’s face, he lunges forward.

He doesn’t even need his knife this time. He kicks him in the leg so hard, he’s sure that that scream of agony wasn’t exaggerated at all. The man lets go of Zhangjing, swearing like a menace as he turns back to Yanjun, revealing enough of his face for Yanjun to sink his fist into it.

Yanjun has his brass knuckles out now, the ones he only reserves for special occasions because Zhangjing made them for him and they’re emergency weapons. He used them for Hendery Huang and now they’re out and there’s enough blood pumping in his ears for him to recognize that he’s  _ angry _ .

So he yanks Zhangjing out of the way, registering the new red bruise on his cheek, and sinks his fist again into the man’s cheek.

He doesn’t stop, even pressing the switch on the brass knuckles to unsheath the spikes on them, pummeling into the screaming man. He doesn’t stop, even when he’s beaten him so badly he only dimly realizes that he’s straddling him and still beating the shit out of the guy.

He’s yelling something, but he can’t tell what. He feels the drench of blood over his hands and over his pants but something vengeful, something carnel is erupting inside him the same way he beat up that poor SM official he can’t remember the name of that day they went to get Zhangjing back. The same way he broke Hendery Huang apart in his hands. The same way he’s now tearing this man apart. 

What stops him, is the feeling of Zhangjing’s hands, shaking, on his cheek. They might have been tugging at him before, and the screaming might have been in Zhangjing’s voice. But it isn’t until the small, warm hands touch his face that he stops what he’s doing.

“Yanjun… Yanjun…” Zhangjing is gasping, pulling his face back, “Stop, he’s dead already.”

Yanjun looks down at the beaten-in face. 

“God, Yanjun. Get off of him.” Zhangjing is shaking still, hands tugging at him everywhere. It’s enough to get him clambering off the bloody corpse and sinking to his knees in front of Zhangjing.

“God.” Zhangjing is muttering, tugging Yanjun’s head to his stomach. Yanjun can hear the thump of his heart through his abdomen, and the shake of his hands as they smooth over his hair. “God, Yanjun. What the fuck am I gonna do with you…”

Yanjun closes his eyes, because he’s scared too. Shaking, even if Lin Yanjun doesn’t shake. He also doesn’t feel weak, and he’s not supposed to feel this afraid of something already dead. But he’s also not supposed to feel this squeezing feeling in his chest, like something has finally broken free and is just taking what Yanjun always owed it.

And that’s what he’s most afraid of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(
> 
> kudos n comments keep me going :9


	53. Yanchen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy we haven't had a yanchen chapt for like 39928402 years

Yanchen can make it to the basement in five.

So when Xukun yells for someone to go cover Park Chanyeol because that bastard Zhu Xingjie didn’t think SM would come crawling up their asses, he’s tearing down the hall with a loud swear and a middle finger aimed in his best friend’s direction.

“Fuck you Xingjie. What did I fucking tell you.” he shouts testily, glaring at Xingjie’s darkening face.

“Oh fuck you, Yanchen. You said that we should go on the aggressive side, which has nothing to do with how they’re breaking-” Xingjie retorts, before Ziyi is roughly cutting in between them.

“Yanchen go to the fucking basement.” Ziyi says angrily, already making his way to the stairs that lead to where Nongnong said he was, “Go get the back door, Xingjie.”

Yanchen swears again before running past Xukun and Zhengting having a moment in the hallway. He’s gonna hand Xingjie’s ass to him after all this shit, assuming that both of them would survive this stupid SM break-in. It would be a good fight too; Yanchen hadn’t fought Xingjie in a while, with all the work they had to do these days. It was mainly just training with Zhengting and Cheng and Yanjun. And missions with Zeren.

And just as he’s thinking of the last boy, his golden skin and chocolate brown hair, a familiar pair of feet fill in the rhythm of his own paces.

He looks behind him, “Zeren?”

“Go! Go! Go, Yanchen-ge!” Zeren huffs, easily catching up to him with his speed, “Zhengting-ge is gonna whoop my ass if we don’t get out of here fast.”

“Bet.” he pants back and picks up his pace. They’re gone pretty fast after that, Yanchen thinking only mildly about how Zhengting is sure to beat the shit out of him for taking Zeren on such a dangerous job. But even Zhengting knows how dangerous an  _ SM  _ convoy can be, so he’s not surprised when he doesn’t even hear a shriek or grumble of indignation from behind him.

“Park Chanyeol. Why do we always get stuck with him?” Zeren pants out from in front of him. He turns his head slightly behind to look at him, dark eyebrows furrowed. Yanchen’s chest expands at the sight, even if he’s panting hard from running so much.

“Cause we’re the coolest here. And we can kick ass.” he says flippantly as an explanation, grinning when he sees Zeren roll his eyes.

“I’m cool. You’re not.” he bites, picking up the pace even more.

“Says the one who’s literally wearing my shirt right now.” he counters, and when fierce red blooms across Zeren’s cheeks, he smiles even wider.

“You can have it back. I don’t want it now.” Zeren huffs and turns away from him again, somehow running  _ even faster _ , leaving Yanchen behind.

“You love me!” Yanchen calls out happily, “You know it’s true!” 

Zeren middle fingers him as a response, but Yanchen’s already grinning. He wonders if it’s normal to feel this happy when they’re in a potential life and death situation, the beginnings of a fight echoing all around them. But then again, Yanchen’s noticed in the past months that the more time he fights with Zeren, the more he seems to throw all of that out the window. Like now, as he watches Zeren’s sprinting backside, his hair messy still from sleep, his own shirt draping off his small frame, he can’t help but feel pleased with it all.

And yes, Yanchen knows what that sounds like. Unlike Ziyi or Xukun or Yanjun or Zhangjing, he can actually tell when he likes someone. He’s dated before; the Retributation sometimes even heads out to clubs or for underground parties when times are  _ really _ good. And he knew that at this point, Zeren wasn’t that same little brother in his eyes. And yes, he also knows that that sounds super creepy, considering how much older he is than the other boy, and how he was basically already an adult when Zeren came into SM as a thirteen or fourteen year old. Oh god, that just made it worse.

But damn Ding Zeren. With his fireball personality and giggly moments. With his rough, quick fighting style he somehow clicks well with and his stupid gold skin and dimples. With the way he cuts back at Yanchen’s remarks and goes along with whatever fun he wants to have while still managing to blush in the cutest way when Yanchen says something flirty. He wonders if Zeren’s noticed that. He wonders how far he’s willing to go with this.

Right now is not the right time to think about this, he reminds himself. There’s a damn fight going on outside and it’s up to him to make sure it all goes smoothly. They’re on the first floor now, and Yanchen can see through the windows Nongnong spin kicking some poor soldier so hard across the face, the man falls back and doesn’t move. He can see Ziyi bursting out of the doors, Lingchao and Ruibin just behind him, brandishing their knives and fists under the light. And if he presses forward a bit, there’s Wenjun climbing up some ladder up the wall of the mansion, trying to get to higher ground to apparently grab for something. Nongnong wasn’t kidding when he requested the most help for the front; there were at least thirty men out there, darting around for another entrance or fighting. Nongnong must be exhausted, having to fend off so many for so long.

“I don’t think they’re made it yet!” Zeren exclaims as they slow at the foot of the stairs to the basement, “We got here first!”

“Yeah.” he agrees, hurrying down them, “Let’s go grab him so Yue Yue and Bu Fan can go help out at the front.”

Which turns out to be relatively easy. Yue Yue and Bu Fan have heard the sirens and fighting, and both of them are itching to go out and fight. Yanchen also suspects that Yue Yue is having a sort of older brother protectiveness going on inside when he tells him that Lingchao is out fighting at the front.

They leave, and Yanchen turns back to Zeren, who’s frowning at the door to Park Chanyeol’s cell.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking of how we’re gonna knock him out to drag him away. He isn’t exactly happy with us.”

Yanchen had to agree. Apart from it being him and Zeren who captured him in the first place, he himself was the one who threatened the information out of him when they needed to set up Zhengting’s mission. He doesn’t like to relay what he did to get it out of him, but he does know that Chanyeol’s gonna be less than pleased to see him.

“Let’s knock him out. Fastest way.” he suggests, and when Zeren nods, he puts in the passcode, scans his fingers and eyes on the sensors and the door swings open.

Just as expected, Park Chanyeol is beside the door, swinging a heavy blow at his head. He ducks down and spins his leg around his, successfully hooking him enough for him to stumble a bit back.

“Calm down.” he says, lunging forward. Chanyeol scoffs as he moves back.

“They’re here for me. You’re dead, Zhou Yanchen. I’ll make sure they boil you alive.”

“I don’t blame you.” he sighs, then stops completely. Chanyeol looks confused for a second, but it’s gone as his eyes roll up to the top of his head and he topples forward.

Yanchen raises an eyebrow at Zeren’s impassive face behind him. “I couldn’t see you behind him. You’re so small.”

“Fuck off.” he growls, rubbing his hand, “He has a hard head.”

Yanchen laughs, reaching forward and pinching Zeren’s cheek. The boy stares at him incomprehensibly, red clouding his cheeks quick and fast, and the sight is enough for him to grin before bending down to pick their prisoner up. “Let’s go before they catch up to us.”

“You should stop doing that.” Zeren huffs from where he’s slinging Chanyeol more over Yanchen’s shoulder.

“Doing what?”

“...you know. Touching. Talking. Stuff.” he sounds annoyed, and Yanchen turns once more to smile wryly down at his cute face.

“I like flirting with you. You’re cute.”

And with that, they run.

The plan is, they huff out, to go to the garage and grab a motorcycle and head on out of there and maybe send a flare once they’re far enough away to get SM’s attention. Yanchen lets Xingjie know that that’s what him and Zeren are gonna do on his communications device before heading for the garage with his motorbike. 

“This is gonna work, right?” Zeren says as they pace down the hall, “Are you sure we’re gonna have enough time to head out, send a flare, and somehow sneak back?”

“No.” he admits, readjusting Chanyeol’s form on his shoulder, “But getting him out of here is our priority; we can’t have Mr Park here relaying all of our secrets to SM.”

“I wonder who’s coming to get him, and how they found us.” Zeren darts forward and catches Chanyeol’s leg from where it’s slipping down his back, “The Retributation is literally in the middle of a desert.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Yanchen scoffs, thinking of how stubborn Xingjie was about the whole Byun Baekhyun and JYP fiasco, “Probably just SM working with whatever Fan Bingbing found on us.”

“Mmm. I hope Cheng and them are okay. Zhengting is probably kicking ass for them, but I’m not sure if Wenjun’s gonna be 100% okay in the front.” the worry in his voice is genuine.

“He will. Nongnong is out there with him, and he hates it when people touch the people that can’t fight well, like Xiao Gui or Mubo or Wenjun.” They round the corner, “Let’s get out of here.”

Zeren opens the door, and there’s a second of silence as he peers in. Then everything comes alive at once.

They go for Zeren first, of course they do, since he’s standing in front. A hand darts out from the darkness of the garage and punches so fast, whoever it hit would probably leave with a broken nose. But it’s Zeren, and he somehow bends his body to the side fast enough to dodge it. 

Yanchen dumps Chanyeol's body behind in just in time for two other agents to come at him. He drives his arms up so that their fists collide with them, and grits his teeth as he spin kicks them off him. In the moment that they’re stumbling back, he kicks Chanyeol farther down the hall into a corner and surges forward.

The first two agents that came for him are relatively easy to handle. Yanchen punches one across the face to knock him out and breaks the leg of the other and only comes out with a bruise or two on his arms. Zeren, on the other hand, is on the back of one of the taller ones, swinging backwards until he flips over and the man goes toppling after him. Then, Yanchen watches as Zeren sinks a blade into his throat. He grins at him, but the victory is short lived as more agents slam into them.

There are more this time, all coming out from the garage, and Yanchen is a little confused how the hell they knew to come here and how they got in in the first place. Maybe they just got lucky when they were finding an alternate path to get in, or maybe Xiao Gui messed up which doors to open at what times. Anyhow, they’re fighting around ten men, and Yanchen is trying to reach for the light to the garage so that he can see what the hell is going on.

Zeren beats him to it. He stumbles under the arms of a man swinging for his head and punches the light switch. The overheads switch on, and Yanchen is momentarily blinded enough to get another punch at his side. 

“Give me a warning first!” he calls out, and Zeren grins at him from where he’s twisting a blade into the neck of an agent in front of him.

It’s lucky that Xukun sent them to handle this. Because this is the perfect hand to hand combat fight and him and Zeren are probably the best duo there could be for that except for Xukun himself and Zhengting. 

Yanchen kicks a soldier right into Zeren’s waiting knife, and when it sinks in and the man yells in pain, he grins like a cat at Zeren’s face. Zeren sinks his blade into the man’s chest quickly to finish it off, and when he looks up, there’s that same fire and fight in his expression that Yanchen knows is reflected on his own. 

That need to fight, that bloodthirsty, gutsy, rough fight that Yanchen loves so much is on Zeren’s face, and his skin is shiny with sweat and his eyes are manic and the air is ripe with the scent of blood, and Yanchen suddenly  _ wants _ so badly that he has to take it.

He’s never been the type to shirk away from something he wants and that he knows he can have. 

So he presses forward, watching Zeren as he drops the bloody man in his hands, stepping into his space until Zeren is looking up at him, still grinning but slightly confused on why Yanchen’s so close to him.

He puts a hand under his chin, tilts it up, and kisses him.

It’s simple, super quick, and when Yanchen pulls away, he’s grinning.

Zeren looks like he’s been hit on the back of the head, eyes large, mouth opened slightly as the grin falls off his face in shock. There’s a drop of sweat rolling down the side of his face, and as Yanchen reaches down to brush it away, his cheeks explode with colour.

“Cute.” he says down to him, smiling, then turns, “But we need to get Mr Park out of here before SM sends their next stock of agents.”

He looks over his shoulder to beckon him forward, and it’s only after a slight pause that Zeren comes with him, “...yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

Yanchen reaches into the corner and hoists Chanyeol back over his shoulder. He gets Zeren to climb in before dumping him across his lap, then climbs in the front. “Grab onto me. Squish Chanyeol between us.”

Zeren’s hands clutch into his jacket, and Yanchen smiles with the way they’re digging so deep, “What, we kissed and now you’re shy?”

Zeren doesn’t respond but pinches him as payback, so Yanchen revs up the bike a few times before pressing the button to open the garage and pull out.

The night air is cool and crisp, and it cuts easily into their faces seeing as they’re not wearing helmets. The bike is fast and kicks up a dust storm behind them, leaving the din of the fight behind. 

“How far should we go?” Zeren calls over the revving of the bike. Yanchen suddenly wishes there wasn’t Park Chanyeol squished between their backs.

“Up that hill?” he calls back, making a turn to go up the dusty dune.

Yanchen is already reaching into his pocket, fingers grazing the metal covering of the flare gun, when everything comes alive at the same time.

Zeren saved then, albeit ungracefully. He lurches sharply to one side and they go sprawling to the ground, missing the shower of bullets headed their way. Yanchen whips his head up as they hit the ground, dust and rocks flying everywhere, to see two men climb off a helicopter floating a couple yards away. 

It’s really a man and a boy, because the kid behind the one in the front is in no way even legal yet with how short he is. But the one in the front is, and Yanchen furrows his brows because  _ does he know who that is? _

He has long hair that’s swept back into a quick ponytail, and a round face and hard eyes. He’s spinning an automatic in his hands, hence the previous shower of bullets. He looks into Yanchen’s eyes, mouth tightening, and all of a sudden, he knows who it is.

“Zhou Rui.” he breaths, and Zeren’s hand is on his back.

“What?”

“That’s Zhou Rui. Remember, one of the guys in the socialite department when we left? The one that me and Xingjie and Xiao Gui hung out with every once in a while?” 

Zeren squints, “He grew his hair out. And he has a big-ass scar over his eye. I almost didn’t recognize him.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to pretty soon.”

There’s someone else now climbing out of the helicopter, a face he can’t recognize. He has black hair and a slender build and even from this far away, he can tell when someone is drop dead gorgeous. But Zhou Rui and the other boy are coming for them, and there’s no time to goggle at the newcomer.

“Stay with Chanyeol.” He shoves the limp body at Zeren, “Don’t come in unless you have to.”

“But-”

Yanchen strides quickly towards where Zhou Rui is coming for him. He pulls out two knives from his belt and stares at Zhou Rui as he drops the gun and pulls out his own heavy blade. They move almost too close together before Yanchen lets his blades clang against the other’s.

Zhou Rui’s improved. Before, he was never that good; just another agent at SM Agency, nothing special, not a prized socialite like Yanjun or Nong. But he was fun and lighthearted and made Xingjie laugh more than anyone and an occasional hangout that Yanchen had fun with. Now, he’s none of that.

Zhou Rui brings his blade heavily down on his own crossed knives, teeth gritted, eyes flaming. Yanchen has to dodge the second blade at his head, hearing the woosh as it slices above him, and whips his legs around in an attempt to trip him up. Zhou Rui’s gotten faster though, and he just responds with a hard knee in the stomach that sends him stumbling back. Zhou Rui clocks him in the side of the head, and Yanchen winces as he hits a bruise Zhengting gave him. He flips back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he looks up.

“Haven’t seen you in a while.” he smiles, picking himself back up, “Gotten better, huh.”

“Zhou Yanchen.” Zhou Rui is humourless, no familiarity at all, “I had a hunch it was gonna be you.”

“Uh huh? Thanks for thinking about me, even though to be honest, I didn’t think it was gonna be you.”

Zhou Rui surges forward, and they fight again.

It’s faster this time, and both of them press a little harder, kick a little quicker. Somewhere out of the corner of his eye, he can see Zeren push the bike and Chanyeol’s limp form behind some rocks before coming to support him. 

“Get back!” he yells as response, and Zhou Rui chuckles in his ear.

“You scared, Yanchen? I don’t remember you being like this before you  _ left _ .”

“What happened with you?” Yanchen grits his teeth and pushes him back. Zhou Rui’s heavy knife slices by his ear.

“Me? I’m just being the good SM agent I was supposed to be, unlike you and Xingjie and Xiao Gui.”

Yanchen kicks out and Zhou Rui ducks before grabbing his leg and swinging him back. He barely has time to flip out and skid along the ground. “What the fuck do you mean?”

Another clang of blades sounds out somewhere behind him, and he realizes that Zeren is engaged with the other boy. He grits his teeth again. 

“Leaving me behind at SM? Wasn’t the point to make me a better agent?” heavy sarcasm drips off his words, anger in Zhou Rui’s eyes.

“What the fuck?” he can feel himself colour in rage, “We would never leave you behind! Xingjie said that you didn’t want to come with us!”

Even before he’s finished saying Xingjie’s name, he knows that it wasn’t the right thing to do. Zhou Rui clamps his mouth shut, signalling that their conversation is over, and, eyes suddenly flaming, begins to fight back even faster and harder than before. He’s still sloppy-- he has that same style Zhou Rui has always had with brash movements that seem like he’s working too hard-- but it’s effective for him, and Yanchen knows that he’s not going to be able to fight him like he used to. Yanchen’s too heavy, and relies too much on strength and rough movements. What Zhou Rui needs is someone fast and agile to fight. Someone as fast as Zhengting to unstabilize him and send him sprawling.

He glances to the side, and just like that, there are another pair staring back. Ding Zeren’s eyes are bright, glowing almost under the moonlight, and in that instant, Yanchen knows what he wants him to do.

Hitting Zhou Rui hard in the stomach, he uses the second of time to turn and sprint for Zeren. At the same time, Zeren seems to be launching himself off the back of the boy he’s fighting and running for Zhou Rui. He jumps then, kicking the boy across the face and grinning as he goes tumbling back. 

The fight is better this time. The boy is small; not very precise with where he hits, but powerful, and the only reason Yanchen thinks he has an edge on him is because he’s just that much bigger. He’s careful with how he hits too, like he’s thinking of his moves before he does them, and all of that just makes him think that his fighting reminds him of someone he knows. Maybe Xukun, with his sudden rough movements, but then Ziyi, with his powerful, controlled punches. 

But it’s not important right now of who this kid is, because he has a chance. When the boy punches forward again, Yanchen grabs it and yanks it forward. In the same instant, he raises his elbow above his back and grinds down as hard as he can: the same move he tried to do on Zeren during their first fight. The boy groans with pain and sinks down, Yanchen getting in an extra kick or two in the process.

The boy curls up on his side, Yanchen kicking him again, the blood pounding in his ears as he hears Zeren and Zhou Rui yell with anger and pain beside him. He might have kept on doing that-- kicked and beat away at the kid until he was unconscious and Yanchen could go help Zeren-- but he doesn’t.

Instead, less than a moment after the boy has crumpled at Yanchen’s feet, he feels a blinding pain in his upper back thigh. And he doesn’t even have time to turn or hiss in pain when another gets him slightly more down.

He falls then, hits the ground hard, hands going to his leg and immediately slipping around in the wet fabric of his pant leg.

Yanchen groans and tries to pull himself up. His hands are slightly red, and his leg is erupting with the pain, but when he looks at Zeren, who has Zhou Rui in some headlock, and sees the sudden realization and clouding of fear, he can’t help but want to get up, run to him, tell him to stop worrying and to focus on the fight in front of him.

And maybe he would have. Yanchen is a stubborn man, even if his leg is bleeding out onto the dusty floor in a rapidly growing pool. Maybe, if there wasn’t a sudden cold sensation at his left temple, the chill making his entire body freeze and his hair to stand on end.

“Stop.” a voice above him says slowly. It’s high and soft, and in any other world, would have been harmless. An elegant, gentle, soft sort of voice. Perhaps belonging to a young boy, if it wasn’t so cold that Yanchen feels like the fingers suddenly dipping onto his neck are more like snakes rather than hands.

Thankfully, his head was twisted slightly towards Zeren before the gun was against his head. He can see the scuffle decently well without moving a muscle.

Zeren kicks Zhou Rui away, who’s panting shallowly on the ground, and has  _ Park Chanyeol  _ in his hands like some huge ragdoll, knife at his throat.

“Zhou Rui. Qian Zhenghao.” the man above him says, and the boy on the ground groans.

Zhou Rui picks himself up and runs towards the boy. He loops his arms under his form and carries him princess style somewhere behind Yanchen. Other than that, no one has moved.

“Get that gun away from his head.” Zeren is composed, hands holding the knife steadily to Chanyeol’s throat.

“Get that knife away from his neck.” the man moves his hand from his neck to his shoulder, “Or I’ll blow a hole in this one's head.”

“You-”

“Throat wounds don’t have to be fatal. Bullets in the head are.” A hand traces his jawline, “And anyways, do you want to risk it?”

He sees the confliction run across Zeren’s face, a dark shadow that crosses his expression.

The voice above him speaks again, “Unless you want another hole in this one, I suggest you let go of Chanyeol.” Yanchen feels a sharp edge run across his cheek, but he’s too busy watching Zeren’s eyes harden to watch the knife tracing along his face.

“Zeren,” he calls, “Take the bike and get back to Xukun.”

The knife presses down on him, slicing open his skin.

Zeren looks at him for a moment, dark brown eyes tense and afraid-- it’s not a good look, and Yanchen flexes his muscles because damn, he wants to wipe that look off his face. Zeren closes his eyes for just a second, and when he’s opening them, he’s no longer looking at Yanchen.

He drops Chanyeol to the ground, his body hitting the ground with a thud. Yanchen grits his teeth.

“Zhou Rui.” 

The man darts out from somewhere behind him, scurrying across the dusty, blood splattered earth to pull Chanyeol over his shoulders and stumble back. Zeren’s eyes are back on him.

“Now let go of him.”

Yanchen doesn’t expect his captor to actually fulfill his side of the deal, but to his surprise, the man takes the gun and knife away from his cheek and temple and pushes him hard in the back. He falls forward, barely catching himself in time to not twist his maimed leg in any other way. It’s still pouring blood, and his vision and head are getting lighter, but Zeren is running towards him now, and he doesn’t deem it a good time to black out.

He feels a pair of arms thrown over him, hot and muscled and hard. Zeren is muttering something incomprehensible in his ear, and all he can think to say is, “You fucking brat. I’m gonna kill you.”

Zeren laughs lightly, tightening his arms again around his neck. Yanchen smiles despite the situation, and snuggles slightly into his neck before looking up again. 

The man is looking at them, and now that there’s no gun trained on him, Yanchen can appreciate his beauty. Petite, slender, delicate, gorgeous features on a man with cold eyes and a lip ring glinting on his mouth. He might be even the most beautiful man he’s ever seen, if he wasn’t giving him an expression that sent chills down his spine.

“Who are you?” he asks before he can stop himself. Zeren’s arms tighten around his neck.

The man looks at him for an extended moment. Zeren isn’t moving from around his neck; they’re all frozen, like they’re waiting for something for something to happen.

But then, in the distance, Yanchen hears the grind of a car, the revving of an engine. And when he flickers his eyes to a side, he can see the spot of light, a yellow dot on the horizon. The man’s eyes dart to see it as well, and just like that, he’s turning and climbing back into the helicopter. Zhou Rui just smirks at him, carrying Chanyeol inside behind him. The helicopter door clangs shut, and just like that, it’s flying up and away into the night sky.

Yanchen watches it, making sure it disappears into the clouds before letting his entire body go limp.

He lies on the hard, dusty ground, gasping with pain and the thrill of it all, sweat gathering on his skull. Zeren comes down with him, arms on both sides of his torso, also panting and eyes raking over his form.

“Did they get you anywhere else?” he asks quickly, reaching out a hand and brushing at his cheek, where the cut’s clotted up a bit.

“Yeah, just a couple bullets in the leg. No biggie, who needs two legs anyways?”

Zeren scoffs, and Yanchen grins.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you when I get them out though. Letting Chanyeol go like that.”

When Zeren giggles, he tucks his chin down a little, and his dimples pool by his mouth. His eyes curve into half moon shapes that are like pits on his golden skin under the dim moonlight, and even though his head is light and woozy from all the blood loss from his leg, he can’t help but admire how  _ attractive  _ he is.

He reaches up, hand itching to pull him down for another kiss. But Zeren is pulling away, eyes going serious, but hand never leaving his chest. So he clutches at it instead, wrapping his hand around his like he’ll never let go as the car screeches to a stop and doors begin to bang open. Xingjie's voice is gruff and worried.

“Are you guys okay?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yanren arc start?


	54. Xukun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short cause im drowning from homework, exams, and interviews

The medical centre is packed when Xukun steps through the doors, Ziyi leaning on his shoulders. 

Right away, he can see that the place is in disarray. Carts and beds lie on their sides all over the floor apart from the few that someone has pulled back upward. There’s a light buzz in the room as people bustle around, tending to their wounds and setting things back in order. Qin Fen seems to be bustling around the most as a medic, yelling periodically for Xinchun and Xiao Gui to bring him various things as he fusses over everyone. Mubo seems shaky, pale and with a large black bruise on one of his eyes, but he’s still moving around, though admittedly much more quietly than Mubo usually is, Qin Fen sending him worried looks every once in a while. 

Yue Yue is scolding Lingchao in one of the corners, ranting on while Mu Ziyang wraps a bandage around his head. Lingchao has his head propped onto his elbows, watching him drone on amusedly as Bu Fan rubs some sort of foul smelling oil onto his naked back. Dinghao’s face is swollen, his lip bleeding, but he looks happily dazed as Xinchun frantically ices his cheeks and rubs in cool dressings. Chaoze is being patched up by Quanzhe, bandaging his arm. Ruibin is hissing in pain as Xiao Gui rubs ointment into his skin, the latter muttering something that sounds foul.

Xukun sees Yanchen on a bed, face pale and too serious, as he talks quietly and quickly to a solemn Xingjie sitting on his bed. Mubo is there too, sticking a needle into Yanchen’s arm, quiet and expression serious as he listens in on what Yanchen must be saying. Xingjie looks towards him as he walks into the room, and from the expression on his face, Xukun can tell that they’re gonna have to have a meeting pretty soon. 

Ziyi groans beside him, and Xukun is about to half-carry him near an upturned bed and somehow get it upright and him in it, when someone lifts him off his shoulders.

“I can take him. Go get a bed.” Xukun keeps forgetting how strong Jeffrey is for someone who spends his time with machines and code, but he’s grateful as he easily maneuvers Ziyi across his own shoulders and sees Ziyi relax from the lessened stress.

He goes over to a bed, hands lifting under the upturned bed, straining because it’s heavier than he thought. But then, another pair of hands appear in his vision, helping him turn over the bed back onto its wheels. 

Zhengting blows hair out of his mouth when it’s done, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand at the same time. Xukun sees that they’re bandaged, along with one of his upper arms, and that he has another one across his cheek. Zhengting glances at him once, like there are more important things to look after, and honestly, Xukun agrees.

Jeffrey eases Ziyi over, the latter’s face pale and now covered with a film of sweat from the pain. The stab wound in his side was deep, and the only reason why it didn’t puncture a lung or anything was because he twisted to the side at the last moment. Xukun wasn’t even near enough him to go save him; Nongnong was the one who slammed the agent away from Ziyi and beat the shit out of him while Ziyi crawled away to somewhere safer. 

He helps Jeffrey lift Ziyi into the bed, then, use a knife to cut his jacket and shirt away. Like he thought, the wound is deep and oozing blood and pus, the skin around the wound green and sallow. Xukun crouches by his bed and takes his hand, not saying anything when Ziyi curls his own fingers around it a little too tight for comfort.

He can tell by the way Ziyi is opening and shutting his mouth that he wants to say something, probably something that will make it seem less bad than it is, but no sounds except for some choking gasps are coming out of his throat. Jeffrey is by his side in a moment.

“Don’t try.” He says, brushing his sweaty bangs out of his face, “Just rest. Zhengting is getting Qin Fen.”

Xukun moves slightly so that Jeffrey can take his place and so that he can tell Qin Fen what happened. The man has fresh bruises all over his face, but at the sight of Ziyi’s side, his expression hardens and he hurriedly tells Jeffrey to move aside as he begins yanking tubes and metal things out of a box on the side. Jeffrey concedes without too much of a hassle, but doesn’t let his fingers leave Ziyi’s hair as he retreats to the other side of the bed.

Xukun looks towards Ziyi to give him some sort of reassuring nod, and they lock eyes for a moment, Ziyi’s expression saying that he knows what Xukun wants to tell him. Xukun nods, and his eyes leave his, flickering up to the fluffy haired boy whose brushing his hair away from his face. Xukun thinks for a second that maybe he should stay by him too, give some sort of moral support as he goes through whatever Qin Fen has to do to him to keep him alive, but Qin Fen’s drawing the curtain shut, and he remembers that no matter how much he needs to see Ziyi safe, there are other people he has a responsibility to.

So he turns away before he feels the need to yank open the curtain, and his eyes fall on another corner of the room. Justin is lying on a bed, tubes and wires hooked back up into him. Chengcheng is sitting on the edge of his bed, leaning over his face, smoothing back his blond hair with the blade of his hand. His face is impassive, pensive maybe.

“Chengcheng saved Justin.” Zhengting says quietly. Xukun feels the gentle touch of his hand on his shoulder, “He fought off more than ten men so that they wouldn’t touch him.”

Xukun looks at Chengcheng’s body. He’s shirtless except for the thick strips of bandages that wrap around his torso and waist. The white bandages have a pale stain of red.

“He got pretty beat up too.”

“Yeah. He saved Qin Fen and Mubo as well. Mubo got slammed against a wall and passed out. And you know Qin Fen can’t fight like the rest of us anymore with his bad legs and back.”

“Injuries from a mission.” he muses out loud, “And SM just dumped him when they realized he wouldn’t heal completely. Thank god he met Mubo and went along with the medicine path. I don’t know what he would have done.”

Zhengting’s hand closes around his wrist. “Xukun.” he says gently, “Stop thinking what I know you’re thinking.”

A lump forms in his throat and he has to swallow to get it down. He turns away from Zhengting, unable to look at the bandages across his face and his dark eyes. He clears his throat.

“Hey guys.” he calls out, and the din of voices subside. They all turn towards him, “Good job for defending against SM. We lost Park Chanyeol to them, but since we didn’t lose anyone, that’s the most important thing.” A light buzz of agreement, “Good work and thank you for keeping us together.” 

He pauses, looking over at the sea of faces. Some are morose, some sympathetic, others still grimacing from the pain of their injuries. All are looking back with tired eyes. “I’m sorry as well for not anticipating this. I should have expected that something like this would happen, and should have set up the right defenses in case. I’m very sorry for causing all this.”

“No one blames you.” He hears Yanjun’s voice from slightly behind him. He didn’t even notice him sitting at the bed at the back of the room, arm outstretched and being wrapped up by Zhangjing. His face is passionless, “It’s not your fault, Xukun.”

He nods, because everyone else is nodding alongside him. Then, he stands there stiffly because he’s not sure what to do.

“Xukun? If you’re not feeling too bad right now, could you go get some water from the kitchen? I don’t want anyone getting dehydrated right now.” Wenjun peers at him from behind glasses near Chengcheng and Justin’s bed, currently occupied with rubbing some liquid into a cut on Nongnong’s face with a cotton ball.

“Okay.”

“Only if you don’t need medical aid right now.” He glances at him again. “I could always just ask Xiao Gui.”

Xukun feels the throb of his bruised ribs, but pushes it down and says smoothly back, “I’m fine. I’ll go get it.”

He turns and walks out the door, painfully aware of the groaning that’s suddenly coming from behind Ziyi’s curtain.

The familiar patter of feet is behind him even before he can step out into the hall. He has some vague feeling to run away then, to sprint down the hall so that he can’t hear the voice and see the eyes that might wound him the most deeply, but he doesn’t. He waits instead. “Xukun. I’ll come help you.”

Zhengting slips right beside him, “I saw you limping. You don’t have to deny medical aid so that you can get some water for people. I could have gone.”

“I’m not limping.” he says shortly, walking with harder steps.

“Xukun.” he looks at him, pupils wide like two black pits, “Stop trying to be too strong for the rest of us. It’s unreasonable. We don’t blame you.”

There’s a bitter taste in the back of his throat, hot bile that rises up and complements the wave of disappointment and guilt that washes over him. “I’m not being unreasonable.”

Zhengting sighs. “Xukun. I know exactly how you feel. You don’t have to hide it from me. It’s okay that we had a break in. We’re all fine, right?” He puts a hand gently on his shoulder.

Xukun tries to brush it off, “No-”

“No. No one is mad at you or blame you for anything. SM just somehow found out about our location and-”

“And came barging through our doors!” the irritation hits him before he can control it, “JYP and SM are probably collaborating to wipe us out at this point, and Yanchen even fucking warned me! I just didn’t think- I didn’t prep for any of this to happen, and that was my job!”

“It wasn’t-”

“Yes it was!” He takes a couple of hard steps forward, roughly shrugging out of Zhengting’s grasp, “I’m the leader of this group, and we almost got killed by a break-in! Ziyi lost so much blood and I wasn’t even there to save him! Nongnong, who was exhausted and bruised all over, had to step in! Yanchen almost died from blood loss! He literally has three bullets in his legs, and if Zeren hadn’t gone with him, whoever that SM official was would have probably killed him! Yue Yue has a bad head wound, and everyone, including you, look like shit!” He turns and grabs Zhengting’s wrist, roughly yanking it up and towards him, “Look at your hands, Zhu Zhengting. They’re bruised and fucked all over, and that’s when you’re literally the ace of this entire place!”

Xukun stops then, because his fingers are pressing hard into Zhengting’s wrist, hard enough to bruise, and Zhengting is looking back at him with an expression of sadness.

“No one blamed you. You just don’t understand.” he says lowly, turning his hand a little so that his fingers are grazing across his own. 

He looks at his big doe eyes, the sadness in them, the  _ pity _ , and all of a sudden, he’s back in that dim garage with Zhengting leaning against the jeep and Zeren and Justin and Quanzhe locked away inside it. He’s looking into the same eyes, the same expression, and the same emotions he’s loathed to feel again all slams into him so hard he isn’t sure what to do. It washes down on him, drenching him in that horrifying sense of helplessness, of uselessness, of  _ rage _ that he can’t stand it.

He wrenches his hand out of Zhengting’s grasp, snarling more like a wounded animal than anything, “Don’t say you don’t understand. Wasn’t it the same reason you couldn’t stay with me back at SM in the first place?”

Zhengting’s eyes widen, a sharp flash of pain running across them. His mouth drops open, then twists shut again, like he’s unsure of what to say. For some reason, that hurts even more.

Xukun turns and stalks down the hall, shaking with anger or fear or sadness: he can’t tell anymore.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zhengkun godammit finally making progress and now being little shits again. at least maybe they'll get to talk things through?
> 
> comments n kudos always appreciated :3


	55. Zeren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oOOoooOoo

Zeren watches as Zhengting leaves through the doors to follow Xukun, biting the inside of his cheek as he does. 

“Stop thinking so much.” Yanchen’s hand slips into the crook of his arm. 

Zeren tears his eyes away from the door to focus back on Yanchen, who has one hand flat on the bed and hooked up to different machines, the other gently pulling Zeren back to him. His face is badly bruised, though not as badly as when Zhengting beat him up, and his leg is bandaged and exuding some cool, tangy smell from the different dressings. He’s looking up at him beseechingly.

Zeren presses his finger into the back of his hand, “Finally done your speech with Xingjie?” 

Yanchen grins, “Yep. I told him I was gonna beat him up as soon as I was done too.”

“Maybe you should be more concerned about the guys from SM rather than getting back at Xingjie for not using your plan.” He lifts the blanket from Yanchen’s legs, “Look at your leg. Anyone who can do that to  _ you _ means business.”

Yanchen’s face turns serious, “Of course. I told him about the helicopter and how we were ambushed at that hill. I told him about that SM official… and Zhou Rui and the other boy.” He sighs, “Xingjie isn’t exactly pleased.”

Zeren shifts so that he’s sitting right beside Yanchen’s head, “What even happened between you and Zhou Rui? He seemed really mad at you guys.”

Yanchen’s eyes leave Zeren’s face to train on the ceiling. There’s some sort of a petulant whine in the background, probably Dinghao being overly dramatic and starstruck that Xinchun is bandaging him up, and Yanchen lets it pass before speaking. “I don’t know. He was always closer with Xingjie. Very close even. We just had fun once in a while, or I would show him how to polish his skills and all that. Ate together once or twice. Xingjie was the one who he actually kept by. They were close, even Xingjie admits it, and he never likes to say stuff like that. Then, when we left SM, Zhou Rui didn’t come. Xingjie said that he just didn’t want to leave… and I just didn’t think too much about it.”

Zeren gave a low whistle, “Do you realize how weird that sounds? Zhou Rui, who was  _ close  _ with Xingjie, didn’t want to go with you guys?”

Yanchen looks back at him sheepishly, “Hey, I was busy planning how we were gonna get twenty SM agents out safely and without repercussions. I thought Xingjie could deal with his own issues!”

He groans, “God, Yanchen. There has to be more behind Zhou Rui.” A thought popped up, “Oh, and did you not recognize the other boy either?”

“The really small one?”

“Yeah, even though I don’t think he’s as young as you think. Qian Zhenghao! Don’t you remember him?”

Yanchen’s eyebrows furrow. Zeren pinches his nose as punishment, “Qian Zhenghao! The little boy that joined maybe a couple of months after I came to SM! The one who was always getting screamed at by all the instructors for being all over the place!”

“Nope, not ringing a bell.”

“God, Yanchen. You can’t remember him, even after fighting him? Ziyi and Xukun spent a big chunk of their time teaching him how to fight. Didn’t you notice how similar his fighting style is to theirs?”

Zeren can see the recognition bloom across Yanchen’s face, “Oh my god,  _ that _ kid. The one who couldn’t focus on his shit during training and got his ass whooped by Yixing once?”

“Yes!” 

Yanchen’s mouth is open, but it shuts quickly as his mouth irons out. “Holy fuck. Xukun is gonna flip out when I tell him.”

“Yes.” he agrees, “And so is Zhengting. He loved Zhenghao too. I’m pretty sure everyone is gonna flip out about it really.”

Yanchen groans and tries to raise his hand, presumably to rub his eyes, but he winces instead. Zeren gently pushes it back down to the bed.

“I don’t think we’re done talking about how much you fucked up your body today.”

“Oh?” Yanchen opens his eyes, tilting his head slightly and smirking, “Bullets in the leg not a common thing?”

“No.” he affirms, standing up to go to the medical trolley on the side, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you were a cripple for the rest of your life.”

“Me neither.” he sighed from behind him. Zeren picked up a soothing balm for bruises before turning and facing him again, “I’d have to be an escort or something like Yanjun or Linong, selling my face and  _ extreme _ charm, talent, charisma, and good looks.”

“You fucking loser.” he scoffed, resettling himself by Yanchen’s body. “Yanjun would kill you if he heard you say that. Yanjun kicks ass and Nongnong literally defended the entire front entrance tonight. And are you forgetting that Quanzhe is a psychopath?” He screws open the lid and dips his fingers into the cold gel.

“Seems like a pretty fuzzy hamster to me.” Yanchen closes his eyes to let Zeren rub the gel into his skin.

“Yeah. That’s cause you didn’t see the time he dissected a drunk businessman who licked Zhengting’s face during a mission.” he muttered, “Zhengting didn’t want to fight and attract attention to him and Quanzhe, but when the creep put his mouth on him, Quanzhe literally cut his tongue out.”

“Like I said. Seems like any other hamster.” Yanchen grins, eyes still closed, bright white teeth on display in his cat like smile.

Zeren presses into one of his bruises, smiling in turn when Yanchen winces slightly.

“Now that we’ve punished me-”

“I’m not done talking to you about how many bruises are on your face-”

“-we can talk about you giving Park Chanyeol back to that SM guy. I mean, come on Zeren. Did you really have to act like some mighty hero and hand him over?”

Zeren stares at him incredulously, Yanchen’s eyes are still shut. His face is peaceful, hell, there’s even a little smile by the corner of his mouth. “What did you just say?”

“Why’d you give Park Chanyeol over?”

“What the hell are you saying right now? The SM guy had a fucking gun on your head! If he didn’t blow your head apart, he would have taken you back to SM for sure!”

“And?” Yanchen smiles even wider. Zeren fumes.

“And then you’d be at SM?! What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing. I’m just letting you know that you didn’t need to do that. I’m less important than a top ranked SM official that could have the secret to how we tear SM down.” Finally, he opens his eyes. They’re crinkled at the corners, eye shape like crescent moons as he smiles happily at him. Zeren wants to slap it out of his face. “I probably would have gotten away in the end.”

“That’s not the point! What  _ if _ you got your head blown apart or what  _ if  _ you couldn’t escape? What would we do then?! And how do you think the rest of the Retributation would react if they found out I gave you up to bring back some war prisoner we could just get back?” he rants, furrowing his eyebrows at Yanchen’s still smiling face. Then, before he can stop himself, “How do you think I’d feel?”

He can feel himself colour when the words leave his mouth, wiping the smile off Yanchen’s face. And fuck it. If he’s here already, might as well carry on, “How do you think I’d feel if I gave you up just for a mission? How do you think I felt when I saw that gun against your head? Do you know how scared I was? Do you ever think about how I felt?”

“I do.” Yanchen says softly. He’s not smiling anymore, instead, worming his hand to rest on Zeren’s leg, “Of course I do. I think about you all the time, every moment of the day. Hell, I can’t even go anywhere anymore without thinking about you.”

Zeren stares at him, “What.”

“What, you thought that that kiss was nothing?” Yanchen sighs, “I guess I didn’t do a very good job of showing you what I meant.”

Hope flares up in Zeren’s chest, a spark of  _ want _ that Yanchen embedded in him ever since he first walked into their dorm room back at SM and saw Zhou Yanchen lying on his bunk. The stupid,  _ stupid _ little crush he’s had on the other that’s only gotten stronger and now burns like a fire in his mind and in his stomach every single time he looks at his sparkly eyes and wide smile. It’s a dumb emotion to have, too dangerous even for his taste, and he feels himself scowling as some sort of protection, “Don’t joke about that. It’s not nice.”

Yanchen looks at him incredulously, “Christ, Zeren. I thought I sent you every sign under the sun that I was into you. Always flirting with you, always trying to hang out with you, pinching your cheeks, I thought that it was obvious that I liked you.”

“You like me?” Zeren mutters, “Quanzhe said something like that but I didn’t believe him.”

Yanchen chuckles, “Of course he did. I mean, I’m pretty sure everyone could tell I was into you. Even Ziyi, who’s dumb as a rock at telling this kind of stuff.”

“Then, then why didn’t you tell me!” he’s bursting out, almost throwing the jar of gel on Yanchen’s chest and turning away quickly to hide his red face. His heart is pounding in his chest. “You should have told me you liked me back before randomly kissing me after I was covered in blood!”

“You like me back?” Yanchen asks, wonder in his voice. Zeren colours even harder.

“Yes! I’ve had a crush on you since I was like twelve and you were eighteen-”

“-don’t know how old I actually am, but I’m pretty sure I was younger than that then-”

“Whatever. I thought you would have noticed by now too. You’ve dated so many people.”

“Have not! You heard that from Xingjie right?”

Zeren smiles despite his fiercely hot cheeks as he turns to face Yanchen’s indignant pout. “How’d you know?”

“Cause he was dry as fuck before this Ruibin-Xiao Gui thing, and was always telling me how much I slept around. Every single time I came back with a hickey on my neck, he’d lecture me for hours about the dangers of unprotected sex and whatever.”

“Idiot.” Somewhere in the background, he can hear the door to the hospital wing open again. He turns to see Zhengting stride back through the doors, eyes downcast and mouth twitching. Zhengting doesn’t say or do anything really; just turns immediately and dumps himself on Justin and Chengcheng’s bed, wrapping his arms around Chengcheng’s bandaged torso and burying his face in his neck. Chengcheng doesn’t move.

“Hey.” Yanchen’s fingers trace along his arm, “What’s wrong?”

“Zhengting.” he says simply as if that’s enough of an answer. When he sees the confusion on Yanchen’s face and remembers that he can’t sit up to see the rest of the medical wing, he presses the button on the side of the bed that raises the mattress up into a sitting position.

Yanchen looks at him as he rises up, “I almost can’t understand you guys. You, Zhengting, Justin, Chengcheng, Wenjun, Quanzhe, and Xinchun are so protective of each other, it’s almost unnatural.”

“We love each other.” Zeren murmurs gently, “And don’t tell any of them that I said that.”

“Yes, but it’s crazy how much you do. I’m not saying I wouldn’t do it, but Zhengting was willing to leave  _ Xukun _ to save you guys even though you probably could have taken care of Justin and Quanzhe alone. Wenjun was willing to fight Ziyi and Xukun to prevent Zhengting going on that mission, even if he’s just a medical student. Chengcheng willingly went back to JYP to get Zhengting back, and Justin put himself into a coma just to save Chengcheng any pain at all.”

“It’s normal for us, I guess. I think Zhengting made something happen when he went with me and Justin and Quanzhe. I can’t imagine life without them.” He tears his eyes away from Zhengting’s quiet form to face Yanchen’s gentle expression. “And to be honest, I don’t think some of that is just familial love. I’ve thought that something was going to happen between Justin and Chengcheng for years. And even though I hate it, I can see how Wenjun looks at Zhengting sometimes.”

“Wenjun?” Shock flies across Yanchen’s face before it twists into sad understanding, “Oh no.”

“Yes.” Zeren agrees, “We never talk about this, but everyone knows that Zhengting’s still hopelessly in love with Xukun, even with all the shit that went down. I think Wenjun knows that better than anyone.”

“Fuck.” Yanchen’s eyebrows furrow, “Wenjun is so talented and handsome and kind too. Why is he falling in love with the one guy he could probably never get?”

Zeren nods, because his response is stuck in his throat, and suddenly, he doesn’t want to answer anymore. He glances to Wenjun, seeing how he’s gently patching up Nongnong’s cheek, tranquility and kindness in his beautiful eyes. Nongnong looks back at him with the same gentleness.

“Oh man. There  _ is _ more drama than just Justin and Chengcheng. I thought that they’d have something weird going on, but I didn’t expect Wenjun.”

“I don’t think it’s changing anything though, thank god. I wouldn’t know what to do if our dynamic change. I love them all too much.”

A pause, then, “You don’t want anything to change, right?”

Yanchen’s tone is careful, an extra layer of protection over his shiny eyes even if he tries to look like nothing's bothering him. Zeren reaches out and puts a hand over his cheek.

“I like you Yanchen. I have since I was like twelve.”

“I like you too.” Yanchen turns his neck so that his mouth is pressed against his palm, “Even if everyone thinks I’m a pedo since I met you when you were literally a baby.”

Zeren laughs, gently caressing Yanchen’s cheek and the few hairs down the side of his head. Yanchen kisses his hand again.

Another pause. Yanchen is the one who speaks first, “So, would you want to try with me?”

“Try?”

“Kiss me. Hug me. Be with me. Date me. Whatever you want to call it.”

Zeren expects himself to flush again, but instead, only warmth fills his chest. “I didn’t expect this to be this anticlimactic. I thought we’d have to almost die together for me to tell you about how I feel.”

“That’s because you’re a coward.” Zeren pinches his cheek gently and furrows his eyebrows to show his displeasure.

“Ow.” Yanchen complains, “Fuck, Zeren. You’re not only breaking my heart by not answering, but also abusing my pretty face? How dare you.”

“Who said I was gonna break your heart?”

Yanchen’s eyes shine under the light, crinkling at the edges, mouth stretching until he’s smiling beautifully in that way Zeren has never been able to get out of his mind when he realizes what he’s implying. 

“You’d try for me?”

“I don’t think I could  _ not _ try.” he grumbles, “Trust me. It’s a terrible dilemma. I have to commit myself to someone stupid like  _ Zhou Yanchen _ .”

“Aw don’t be like that. I’ll be sad.”

Despite his words, Yanchen looks so happy, his face seems to be glowing through all the pastes and bruises. Zeren slaps his face gently before pulling his hand away.

“Good. Sad Yanchen is better than crazy Yanchen who’d find the need to kiss me after I fucking kill ten men. How messed up do you have to be?”

“You were so hot though with all the blood and sweat.” Yanchen whines.

“My first kiss too!”

Yanchen stops grinning.

“What?”

“It was my first kiss.” And now, Zeren blushes again, because Yanchen is looking at him like he’s the eighth wonder of the world.

“You haven’t had your first kiss?”

“I just did! With you!” Zeren pinches Yanchen’s unwounded leg, face turning away again because he’s reddening so fast. 

“But before.”

“Who would I make out with? Zhengting? Justin? Quanzhe?”

“Okay fair. I can’t believe I have the honour of being Ding Zeren’s first kiss. Now, you have a moral obligation to remember me in your long list of future boyfriends and husbands.”

“Not even. It was so fast and I was super tired. I don’t even remember it now.” He plays with the hem of Yanchen’s blanket until a hand traces up the back of his own.

“Then… you should kiss me again so that you  _ won’t  _ forget.”

Zeren looks up again. Yanchen, to his surprise, isn’t grinning or smirking the way he thought he would. Instead, he’s smiling gently, eyes looking like they’re filled with stars. It suits him immensely, and Zeren feels his heart grow warm at the sight.

“So many demands.” He mutters, before leaning in.

Unlike their first kiss, this one is much more solid, much more real. Zeren can feel the heat of Yanchen’s mouth under his own, the sensation warm and solid, and utterly intoxicating and addicting just with the first press.

He pulls away, staring at Yanchen hard in the eyes. Then, he raises both hands, cups Yanchen’s face in them, and presses his mouth even harder against his.

The kiss isn’t anything more. No tongue or teeth clacking or anything too messy. It’s just a hard press of lips, and it’s better than anything Zeren could have ever wanted. 

Yanchen’s hands trail slightly along his waist, his fingers burning in their wake. When Zeren finally pulls away again, his eyes are glowing.

Yanchen takes a deep breath, as if to say something, but then lets it out instead in one big huff. He grins at Zeren.

He feels himself grin back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trust me, this isn't the end of yanren. just a segway into some fucked up stuff
> 
> kudos n comments keep me alive :3


	56. Linong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> linong gets a fluffy moment

Linong entire body feels like it’s going to splinter at any second, so when Wenjun presses the warm cloth to his cheek to wash away the blood, he hisses.

“Sorry.” Wenjun says gently, pulling back, “But your cheek is slit open and I need to clean it and patch it up with Qin Fen’s pastes if you don’t want a scar.”

Linong clenches his jaw as Wenjun’s hand returns to his cheek, “I don’t understand how we can just stop scarring with some plant pastses.”

“They’re not just plant based.” Wenjun’s eyebrows are furrowed with concentration as he dabs lightly at his face, “Most of it is drugs from the black market made in expensive labs.”

“I still don’t get how it can just repair scar tissue.”

Wenjun pulls back again, a fond look in his eyes, “I could tell you how, but I doubt you really want to know.” 

That, Linong agrees with. He quietly sits in the bed as Wenjun dabbed at his stinging wound for a couple more times before tossing the cloth to a bowl at the side. 

“Now for the actual paste.” he squeezed a blob of some ginger smelling grey paste onto his fingers before reaching for Linong’s face again. Where his fingers touch his skin, stabbing pain spreads through his flesh.

“Ow, ow, ow.” he winces, jerking away, “Warn me before it stabs me.”

Wenjun looks at him, amused, hand raised near his face, still covered with the offensive paste, “Oh? Our Nongnong is a little pricklier than usual today.”

“Yes, it’s pretty normal after we get invaded and I almost watch one of my friends die right in front of me.”

Wenjun tilted his head to a side, “Do you mean Ziyi?”

Linong closed his eyes. He could still see when he twisted his head around in a fight just to see Ziyi on his back on the ground, rolling away just enough so that the man above him could drive a long knife into his side rather than in his chest. He can see the blade disappearing into Ziyi’s body, his loud groan of pain, then when the knife was pulled out right afterwards to be raised again above him, the sickening slick of blood and the sudden velvety red that bloomed over Ziyi’s clothing. 

“Yes.” Linong opens his eyes to see Wenjun’s concerned face, “I’m so worried about him.”

“Don’t be.” Wenjun raised his hand again, and when Linong nodded, continued to smear paste over his cheek, “You should be proud that you were there to prevent him from getting hurt anymore.”

Linong had shoved away the guy on his shoulder, sprinted for Ziyi, and landed a perfect kick to the face to the man above him. Killing him was easy then. Hearing Ziyi groan on the ground as he desperately tried to wrap his jacket more tightly around his wound, fingers slipping in the blood and caking himself in the dirt, was not. 

“I don’t think I should be proud that I managed to let Ziyi get a stab wound that almost went through his waist.” he sighs, wincing a little as Wenjun brushed his fingers across his eyelid.

“You did good, Linong. You defended the entire Retributation for a good ten or fifteen minutes while backup was arriving.” his expression softened, “And you saved me.”

Linong blinked. “When?”

Wenjun smiled softly at him, “When we went down to ground level, and you shoved me away from that guy and told me to climb up.”

Linong remembers that. When they went down to ground level after he had signalled to Xukun that there was an invasion coming their way, they had been immediately bombarded by a team of ten men that had apparently appeared to scope them out. Linong could take care of them with some strain, but he wasn’t worried about himself. It was Wenjun he was worried about. He had yanked him behind him as soon as his feet touched the ground, shoving him to the wall and yelling for him to stay there or go in through the side door. Then, he had fought off the enemy soldiers long enough for Wenjun to climb up some ladder to a better perch, including stabbing a man who had lunged for him. 

“That doesn’t even count.”

Wenjun laughed as he wiped his hand on a wet towel, “If you didn’t tell me to get away, I’d probably be dead right now.”

“You’d have probably figured out what to do anyways.”

“Okay.” Wenjun knelt and began rolling up one of his pant legs. “But I wouldn’t have enough time and I wouldn’t have been able to defend myself from the agents you killed to keep them away from me.”

He ran his fingers over Linong’s bruises before looking up at him and smiling again.

Linong didn’t know what to say, so he just watched as Wenjun smeared some cool smelling jar from a little pot on the bruises on his legs. This one didn’t sting, but rather, cooled the skin on his legs to the bone and left a nice aloe smell behind.

He looked up from where he was staring at Wenjun’s long fingers on his legs and peered around the room. A sight in the corner of the room made him freeze.

“Wenjun.” He gently tapped him on the head, “Yanchen and Zeren are finally doing it.”

“Doing what?” he turned his head around at first, but when he saw what Linong saw through the curtain across the room, he swivelled his entire body. A slow smile spread across his face, “Oh god. Finally.”

Zeren is sitting on the edge of Yanchen’s slightly raised bed, leaning forwards so that his hands can cup around Yanchen’s cheeks. His mouth is pressed hard against his. If Linong moves his body slightly to the left, he can see Yanchen’s fingers dip into Zeren’s waist.

He looks down to see Wenjun’s slightly parted mouth curve into a delighted smile. He looks back, happiness radiating through his sweaty bangs, and gives a little shrug.

“I mean, we all knew it was going to happen.”

Linong couldn’t help but agree. How could he not, when he could see how Zeren blushed and giggled around Yanchen, and how Yanchen looked at Zeren like there was nothing else better to look at?

“They really would make a nice pair, wouldn’t they?” Wenjun hums pensively, still looking happily at Yanchen and Zeren, “Both are crazy deep down, love to fight, and are both incredibly handsome.”

Linong nods. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Zhengting raise his head slightly from Chengcheng’s shoulder and, finally noticing what’s going on, his eyes widen. He raises up a bit, hand going to his mouth, before apparently deciding against it and settling back down behind Chengcheng. Chengcheng himself still hasn’t noticed, his hands, eyes, and entire body still focused on the unconscious blond boy underneath him. Zhengting looks one more time at Zeren and Yanchen, who have pulled back to smile at each other stupidly, before turning away, delight and sadness mingling together on his face.

He’s not surprised to see Wenjun’s enraptured face when he dips back down. Wenjun’s mouth is shut now, no longer grinning wide, but now curved in a small smile. Though he’s turned back to Linong’s leg, his head is still twisted to watch Zhengting, gentleness and resignation in his expression.

There is no passion, no crazy declaration of love in his eyes. Just a mild happiness tainted with sadness that Linong thinks is almost worse. 

Wenjun glances one more time at Zhengting before turning back around and smiling apologetically at Linong, “Sorry about that. We should get back to wrapping up your leg.”

“Don’t be. You do enough for me already.”

As Wenjun finishes rubbing the ointment into Linong’s leg and seals it with a layer of bandages, Linong watches the movement of his fingers. He really does have beautiful hands: long fingers, clear skin, the pretty pattern of neat little scars. So gentle and so precise with how they move. Linong once thought that they were the perfect hands for a socialite like himself, but now, he knows that they’re the farthest thing from that. Every part of Wenjun is too beautiful and too gentle and too kind to be suited to his kind of work.

“Don’t frown so much.” Wenjun says, pulling Linong’s pant leg down, “You look more handsome when you smile.”

“You sound like my instructors at SM.”

Wenjun laughs lightly, “My mother nagged me into becoming like her. I guess that she would have made a pretty good SM socialite instructor.”

“She probably would, if she’s pretty as you are.” 

Wenjun stood up, setting the pot of ointment on the trolley slightly behind him. “She is.”

There are a couple of moments of silence where Linong watches as Wenjun’s hands dapple among the metals tools and cloth bandages. He sees his gaze sweep across the room, and when they see that no one seems to need any more immediately medical attention, his arms relax. Wenjun turns his head just barely so that no one but a socialite like Linong would have noticed the way it’s oriented towards the boy with the light brown hair burying his head in Chengcheng’s shoulders.

He swallows.

Maybe it’s time he got up anyways. Wenjun is done patching him up, and he deserves a rest after taking care of so many people. He should check on Yanjun and Zhangjing as well.

So he stands, aiming to cross the room to that corner near the door where Yanjun and Zhangjing were earlier. They had told him to go talk to them as soon as he got medical aid, worry painted on both of their faces. But even before he could take a step, he knew that he couldn’t go talk to them.

Even though Bufan is standing slightly in his way, he can see what is happening as clear as day. Yanjun, sitting on the bed with his back to the wall, silver hair tinted with blood at the ends, clearly exhausted. Zhangjing sitting on a chair right beside him, wrapping his hand up with clean white bandages, lecturing him animatedly, eyebrows moving up and down. 

It’s just another Yanjun-Zhangjing moment, something that Linong’s seen a thousand times. Something that anyone would be okay with intruding on to ask for something quick.

But he doesn’t. Linong doesn’t miss the way Yanjun is smiling at Zhangjing, a loose, dimpleless smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He doesn’t miss the tinge of bitterness in the curve of his lips, nor in the way he’s playing with his bloodstained brass knuckles in the other hand. He doesn’t miss the way Zhangjing’s gaze turns dark and unsure whenever he looks down at Yanjun’s bandaged hand. He doesn’t miss the slight tremble in his wrists. 

So he sits down again, unsure of where to go. 

Zeren and Yanchen have stopped kissing, but that doesn’t mean that they’re not doing anything else. Zeren is reaching for a pot of some ointment, but he’s spending most of his efforts trying to dodge Yanchen’s attempts to kiss him again.

Mu Ziyang is lugging a half asleep Lingchao out the doors, winking at Yue Yue as sort of a good night. Bu Fan has already settled into a chair near Yue Yue’s bed, head dappling over the side. Yue Yue himself is stroking Bufan’s closely cropped hair gently, smiling at Ziyang even though his head is bandaged and one of his eyes are black.

For once, Xiao Gui is quiet in how he talks to Ruibin. He’s leaning over Ruibin now, hands on both sides of his shoulders, speaking very fast but very quietly to the man lying in the bed below him. Ruibin looks like he’s caught halfway between a smile and a laugh. Xingjie is leaning against the wall, not smiling but looking with immense affection at the both of them. 

Xinchun and Quanzhe have returned to Zhengting, Chengcheng, and Justin’s bed. Xinchun has taken the place Zhengting was before, gently carding a hand through Chengcheng’s blond hair. Zhengting is sitting on Justin’s other side now, holding Quanzhe close to him as he speaks quiet and fast. Quanzhe himself in grinning, darting his head around every once in a while to look at Yanchen and Zeren’s bed, before turning back around to talk to Zhengting. All of them are happy, glancing at Zeren from across the room, even if Zhengting’s eyes are tired and Chengcheng’s mouth doesn’t smile. 

Xukun hasn’t returned, and he can’t see Ziyi or Jeffrey or Qin Fen through the curtain that hangs around their bed. But with the way Mubo is walking towards it, cups of hot water steaming in his hands, and concern in his eyes even if his face is pale and sallow, he knows that he too has somewhere and someone to be.

Linong stares as Mubo gently pulls open the curtain and slips inside. He can see Qin Fen bent over Ziyi in the bed, Jeffrey’s serious face somewhere in the background. The curtain is shut again, but Linong continues to stare at it, unsure of where else he could look or what he should do.

Something sinks beside him in the bed. 

Wenjun. “What are you looking at?”

Linong swallows, “Nothing.”

Wenjun peers at him for a long moment before asking, “Why don’t you go check up on Yanjun and Zhangjing.”

He wants to answer, but he isn’t sure if Wenjun would understand what exactly is preventing him from getting up and going to see them. He sits there, trying to think of some answer he could give him that won’t sound pathetic or pushy. But it’s Wenjun, and perhaps he should have expected that he’s capable of more than he thinks.

Wenjun glances to Zhangjing and Yanjun. They haven’t moved since Linong last saw them, and in theory, it should have been extremely difficult to see what’s wrong with them for anyone but a socialite or someone who knows them very well. But it’s not for Wenjun, apparently, because his head swivels back after only a slightly long look and his eyes are filled with nothing but gentleness when he faces Linong again.

“Have they always been like that?”

“No.” he admits.

Wenjun just looks at him, “Why don’t you go over and see them anyways though?”

Linong waits a long time before answering, rolling the words around in his mouth until he isn’t sure what he could say and all that comes out in the end is “They’re having a private moment.”

“You could still go though. They wouldn’t mind if you interrupted whatever exchange they’re having. They love you.”

“I know.” he says quietly, “But I can’t.”

Wenjun looks at him for a long moment, “Okay.”

Linong steals a glance at him, seeing the slight sadness in his dark brown and gold eyes. A thought suddenly alarms him, “Oh, I’m bothering you aren’t I? I’ll just go back to my room and you can-”

“I don’t mind.” Wenjun doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t frown either. He pauses, “I like spending time with you.”

Linong looks to the side. Zhengting is draping a blanket around Chengcheng, Xinchun lugging Quanzhe on his back. Justin’s face is as impassive and quiet as it’s been. “I don’t want to prevent you from going to them.” he points out quietly.

“You’re not. I’m staying here because I want to.”

He smiles, not with his mouth but with his eyes, peering into Linong’s eyes. Linong thinks about Zhengting then, wondering how many times he’s seen this gaze and if he also felt the heavy weight it carries. He thinks about Wenjun never getting a look like this back.

“Don’t try to feel this way.” Wenjun says softly, when the lights suddenly dim to presumably let the injured rest better, “You belong with all of us, don’t think that you don’t belong here.”

Linong just stares back at him, and he wonders what all of that could mean.

***

For some reason, for the first time in so long, he sleeps well that night.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay maybe not that fluffy
> 
> no chengstin yet >:) next chapter zhangjun


	57. Zhangjing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this was so late! im going to be posting a bit less maybe for the next couple of weeks, since uni apps :(  
> dw, we'll still have around one chapter each week ;)

Zhangjing was having a pretty good day for the most part.

He had spent the day studying new coding techniques from a book Xinchun bought for him with Dinghao, lying on the couch in the one of the training centers while Yanjun threw knives into a target and kicked at a dummy. Jeffrey had cooked a really yummy curry style dish on rice, and he had even gotten to see Chengcheng moving around again, even if his face was still as expressionless as ever. Then, at night, Nongnong had happily told him that he was getting even better at falling asleep, a concept he had never heard of before and was only confirmed when he heard the boy gently breathing the way he knew he breathed when he slept in his cot, and Yanjun gently smoothed over his hair to reveal his sleeping face.

But the best part was later on at night, when Yanjun tucked himself underneath his covers without even asking, not saying a word when Zhangjing grumbled, only pulling Zhangjing closer under his arm. 

There was nothing special about that recently; Yanjun had kept him close near him ever since that day he broke down in the kitchen in front of him, and had continued to treat him like he was made of glass or something. That included following him wherever he went, giving him and doing little things that he thought might make him happy, and helping him sleep at night. Good for the most part for how much care he got, but bad in the sense that Yanjun now didn’t seem to trust him to do anything on his own. 

Zhangjing hadn’t gone on a mission or even touched a control panel ever since Hendery Huang a couple months ago, a fact that aggravated him to no end. He wanted to help out, be treated the same way he had always been. But each time he tried to start it up again, his hands would shake so hard that even when he explained to Yanjun or Xingjie or Ziyi, he couldn’t even try to lie to himself. Why, he suspected it had something to how he felt, how he’d felt ever since he was raped on the floor of Hendery’s mansion. 

Disconnected. 

Disgusting.

Afraid.

He didn’t like to admit that last part, how utterly afraid he was now. How a simple touch from someone else could send shivers crawling down his skin, how he couldn’t sleep anymore without someone there, how he couldn’t step inside of the techie mission room without his hands shaking like crazy.

He wonders sometimes if it’s pathetic, how he feels. Xukun and Xingjie and Dinghao and Chaoze and Zhengting have gone through much worse in their day to day lives as assassins. Chengcheng has a horrible past, and even Xinchun’s been through hell if the mess of scars across his back is anything to talk about. Nongnong and Quanzhe are both young, but have lived most of their lives doing one of the most destructive, perverted jobs in the entire industry of killing. And Yanjun. He doesn’t want to think about Yanjun.

Today was one of the days that he didn’t have to think of any of these thoughts, when he was happy enough to talk to everyone around him even if they looked at him more gently than he remembered. Then, when Yanjun climbed into bed with him, he didn’t have to think about why he was doing it before he was snoring gently beside him. He had listened to his breathing mingling with Nongnong’s just an arms length away from him, and fell asleep.

Next thing he knew, the alarms were going off, and they were running down to the back door to help Xingjie defend against an apparent SM attack.

Which led them to now, where he was bandaging Yanjun’s arm on one of the medical wing beds, the rest of the Retributation bustling all around them. 

Zhangjing frowned at Yanjun’s forearm, pressing gently down on a nasty dark purple streak across the back. The bruise left behind by that one guy that swung a pole at him, and who Yanjun shielded him against after he killed his companion who almost stabbed Yanjun in the eye.

He killed someone today.

Yanjun’s skin quivers under his touch, and Zhangjing looks up to see Yanjun leaning back almost too casually against the wall, mouth slightly open but eyes slightly shut, shivering away the ghost of pain that flickers across his face.

“You don’t have to pretend you don’t feel any pain, Yanjun. It doesn’t make you seem cool.”

Yanjun doesn’t respond verbally or even looks at him fully. He just raises his eyebrows slightly and smirks.

Zhangjing huffs in annoyance and turns back to his arm. He probes again at the skin, feeling a bit harder even though Yanjun’s reflexes betray him and his arms jerk slightly. He thanks Mubo silently for showing him the basics of medical aid before feeling at the bone.

Yanjun’s arm jerks again, “Okay, okay, okay. I’m sorry. It hurts, I’ll admit it. Stop abusing my bruises.”

Zhangjing ghosts his fingers over the skin, “I’m done anyways. Just needed to check you didn’t have a fracture or something. Pretty sure Qin Fen is using the x-ray for Ziyi right now, so suffer with me a bit longer.”

“Zhangjing is tearing me apart.” Yanjun sighs comically. Zhangjing rolls his eyes as he drops his arm. He looks up while reaching behind him for the dressing.

Yanjun’s eyes are more alive now, looking with interest slightly over Zhangjing’s head. He’s still leaning against the wall, but his mouth is twisted in a slight, genuine grin.

Zhangjing follows his gaze to see Zeren and Yanchen kissing. By the looks of it, everyone else has noticed them as well. Zhengting seems to be stuck between wanting to go over or just sit back down.

“You knew it was gonna happen anyways.” Zhangjing huffs out, focusing back on Yanjun’s arm.

Yanjun shrugs slightly, “Still. It’s nice to see that they’ll admit they want each other.”

Zhangjing doesn’t say anything for a moment. He can see Yanjun looking at him through his curls.”Can I ask you a question?”

Yanjun shifts, “Yeah, what’s up?”

Zhangjing can’t meet his eyes, “Do you think Nongnong is lying to us?”

Hot shame fills his stomach when he says it. Nongnong told him that he didn’t need help sleeping anymore, and he had been too selfish and preoccupied with himself to think harder about it. Nongnong had had problems sleeping ever since he was a little kid, and now, did he really believe that it would be fine? Or did he just wish Nongnong would be better now so that he didn’t have to think about something else?

“Hey.” Yanjun reaches his other hand down below his chin and tilts it up slightly. He’s no longer leaning against a wall, “I know what you’re thinking, Stop blaming yourself.”

“I’m not…”

“You are. Nongnong’s a big boy, he can deal with himself.” He tilts his head downward a bit, eyes darting out to where his best friend was being bandaged up by Wenjun, “And if it was anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

“You? I’m the one who always tucks him to sleep-”

“Exactly.” Yanjun continues to look at Linong. Zhangjing looks at a streak of dried blood across his cheek, “That’s why if it’s anyone, it’s my fault. I should have paid more attention to his insomnia from the beginning. I’ve known him the longest, and he trusts me. I should have paid more attention to him.”

More shame pours into him. Zhangjing thinks about how comfortable he was when Yanjun held him that night, arm around his head and shoulders, and how Nongnong was watching them right beside them. How lonely he must have been.

“You don’t need to spend so much time with me.” Zhangjing sets the pot of ointment aside and pulls out the bandages, “I’ve been taking up too much of your time. You should be spending more time with all of our other friends. Not just me.”

Yanjun allows Zhangjing to begin wrapping bandages around his arm before saying quietly, “Do you still think that way?”

Zhangjing doesn’t look up when he speaks, “Like what?”

“Like you don’t belong anymore. That you’re not worth peoples’ time?”

His hands freeze. More shame. He wants to lie, thinking of his embarrassing breakdown in the kitchen last time, but it sucks that Yanjun is a socialite; he’d see past him immediately for something like lying.

“Sometimes.” he’s willing to admit, “I sweat it’s getting better. I promise.”

“You don’t need to promise me anything.” Yanjun gently touches his fingers with his own, “No one wants you to feel that way, but they want it to be a normal process, just like me. Don’t force yourself to recover. I know you’re strong but you don’t need to be that strong.”

He pauses, like he’s expecting Zhangjing to say something, but he can’t think of what to say to relieve himself of the tension laced throughout his body.

“And Zhangjing.” he says, now more gently than he deserves, “I do everything for you because I want to. Because spending time with you makes me happy. It’s nothing else really.”

Zhangjing sneaks a glance up, because he doesn’t think he can stand not doing it anymore. 

Yanjun is focused, handsome as always, eyes boring into him. He’s serious, with blood caking his face and hair, mouth set in a determined line. Zhangjing swallows. His eyes are still puffy. 

Zhangjing breathes one long breath to compose himself, and because he’s already gone, he asks a question he was going to just let pass, “Yanjun? Why did you yell ‘mine’ when you beat up that guy from before?”

Yanjun stares at him, silver hair still plastered to his head. Unlike the usual flirty smirk, slanted eyes, and lowered brows, his eyes are wide. Open. Vulnerable.

Zhangjing thinks about how he had bashed in the face of the man who had lunged at him, broken his leg with just one kick, snapped every bone in his arm, and beat at his face with the brass knuckles he made for him until the man’s face was a mess of slippery blood and broken flesh. He had, literally, beaten him to death. Watching him, Zhangjing had remembered the newspapers he saw of Hendery Huang, how horrible his body was, and how Yanjun still hadn’t even mentioned to him that that was his work. He remembered how Yanjun broke every finger of a boy who tried to beat him up at SM. But most of all, for some reason, he remembered how Yanjun had felt, warm and safe, when he held him at night.

It was when Yanjun began to yell, “Mine! Mine! Mine!” like some sort of crazed madman, fists hitting the mess of the face beneath him, that Zhangjing couldn’t stand it anymore. He screamed for him, pulled him back, and after a couple tries, Yanjun had stopped, looked at how he was straddling a bloody corpse, and dropped his fists to his sides. He had stopped for a long moment before trembling hard once and crumbling into his stomach. 

Yanjun didn’t seem like himself then. Crying softly and shaking so hard Zhangjing had to pull him close to himself for him to know that he was okay. They had stayed like that, Yanjun crying softly into his stomach, until Xiao Gui announced over the intercom that the ambush was over. 

Zhangjing hadn’t known what to make of it. He felt shame, maybe, though he wasn’t sure what. Afraid, for sure, though it wasn’t of Yanjun himself. He was afraid of himself, though he wasn’t sure why. And maybe, underneath everything else, some sort of twisted, messed up pleasure. That was the core of it, a strong pleasure that disgusted him to no end and that terrified him more than anything.

Yanjun stares back at him, vulnerable and open. His eyes are begging, pleading, uncertain. “I’m… not sure.”

“Mmm.” Zhangjing touched his bandages, dropping his gaze, “Okay.”

Yanjun touches his fingers with his own, “I…” He stops again, uncertain again, “...just didn’t want him to touch you.”

Zhangjing stares at his hand, his long fingers.

He thinks about who Yanjun is, his job as a socialite. His cynicism, flirtation, silver tongue. He thinks about how many men and women he’s had sex with. He thinks about how he doesn’t believe in love.

Zhangjing touches his hand once more, then leaves it.

“It’s okay. Let’s go get Nongnong. He looks lonely. We should talk to him about sleeping arrangements as well.”

Yanjun nods, and they stand.

But as Yanjun drapes an arm around him as he’s always done, Zhangjing can’t help but think all of this is wrong.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah yes i forgot to warn u how bad this chapter is :9
> 
> hope u still love zhangjun cuz i do. im thinking of writing a separate fic for them too


	58. Zhengting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: i didn't proofreed this  
> second disclaimer: zhengkun

Zhengting was born into a pretty normal family.

At least, that’s what he remembers when he thinks back to his very earliest memories, tinted with warmth and light and a woman’s tinkling laugh. It’s not much-- he never has too many memories of that period of his life-- because the rest of his childhood is filled with the door slamming, his mother’s things all suddenly disappearing in a day, his father’s drunken screaming, and a raised belt over his head. 

This continued until he was maybe four, until finally, after his father had screamed confusingly again that it was all his fault, had forced Zhengting in a corner before climbing onto a chair and hanging himself.

Zhengting remembers the snap of his neck the most, the crunching sound he made when his father threw himself hard off a desk, his own screaming and paralyzed muscles as he watched the only family he had left choke to death.

After that, it only got worse. 

He was shipped off to an orphanage for a short while, before being picked up by a foster family. They said it was because he was so pretty that they chose him, though that didn’t seem to prevent from slapping him across the face and trying to gouge out his eyeballs when he broke a vase.

Then, back to the orphanage. Then, another foster home. Then, another one. Then, another.

He was maybe twelve when his latest foster mother beat him so badly, he couldn’t bend over for days out of how much it hurt. She had thrown the stick she had used onto the floor, screaming at him that she was going to kill him, that he was a little devil who had angelic beauty but a demonish heart. He ran away that time, pushed open the door to the house with a few clothes, a couple of balls of rice, and took off. 

Zhengting was a bit older-- how much, he didn’t know anymore-- when he ran out of food and ways to get more. He was a bit older than that still when he pushed open the door to a whorehouse and took off his shirt in desperation. But it was the same night he did that, that a man watching him in a corner grabbed him by the wrist and tugged him to his car. Zhengting had thought that he was going to fuck him, but instead, the man sat him down, handed him a cigarette, and told him that he was going to take him to a different life, away from the streets and the system of orphanages and foster homes he had known. He had tried to escape, thinking that he meant to kill him, but the man just grabbed onto him tighter and drove him into the desert to a hulking metal and glass building.

Zhengting is captivated when he’s first shoved into room at the end of the hall. One, because he was so sure that he was going to be marched down the hall with the big ‘Socialites’ sign over the arch, where the boys peaking out from around the doors were so attractive, he feels like a grubby, dirty boy when he sees them. Not because he thought he was as attractive as them, but because for most of his life, his prettiness was the only thing people had to say about him that was nice. But the boys he saw inside might have belonged with that department anyways, considering how dazzled he was by them. There was that boy with the bright eyes, long legs, and a smile that mirrored the sun. That more solemn, stocky boy with the pale skin, serious face, and strangely cute expression. That muscular boy with the ponytail, gentle eyes, and a handsome face. 

However, it wasn’t until he looked past them, and fixed his eyes onto the figure sitting in the shade of the bottom bunk, that he really felt his breath being taken away. The boy sitting there was sullen, mouth pursed and stretched in a line, but it didn’t take away from just how gorgeous he was. He had black hair like the rest of them, and a heart shaped face that didn’t match the coldness in his eyes. Those were large, framed by long lashes, and icier than anything he had ever seen before.

That was his first meeting with Xukun. Or, at least, his first physical meeting with him. Because he didn’t find out a single thing about the boy even when the other three recounted their own stories to him, peeking at his cold face every couple of minutes to try to decipher anything in his eyes. Xukun didn’t say a single word to him apart from the stilted grunts the boy named Ziyi forced out of him, remaining in his little spot on his bed and listening in on their conversations, his face glowering. 

He didn’t make much progress with him for a while after that too. They slept in the same room, yes. Trained together, yes. Ate together, yes. But though Zhengting grew close to the other boys he roomed with-- fiery Yanchen, careful Xingjie, and calm Ziyi-- Xukun was a closed book, an ic face, an immovable facade. 

The only bit of connection he did feel towards him at all came from his training, when Zhengting realized why the man had ushered him down the ‘Assassins’ hall and away from the socialite department. He was a good fighter, he knew that already, but it wasn’t until he began to receive proper training from SM that he really recognized what that meant. He was naturally flexible, fast from years of running away from grabby men and sweaty policemen, and, apparently, used a different style of fighting. 

Xukun was the one who told him this last point first, and it was the first thing he had ever said to him that actually meant something. It was after he was towelling off after a fight, where he had fractured the finger of some older trainee, that Xukun had turned towards him, face still impassive, and muttered that his ‘fighting was more like a dance than actual punches’. Then, before Zhengting could say anything, he had turned and left. 

But it wasn’t the last time. As Zhengting improved, Xukun began to let himself more into Zhengting’s life. At first, just the occasional comment or grunt, but then, asking questions about what they had learned, raising his eyebrows to ask to fight, gesturing awkwardly to the treadmills to take a run. Zhengting could have attributed it to some sort of sabotage-- he heard the comments of the other trainees around him, of how angry and jealous Xukun must be to let Zhengting catch up to him with his graceful fighting in just a couple of months-- if he didn’t see how Xukun really was. He was closed up, cold, aggressive, calculating, all of that was true and befitting of the King title he held among the SM trainees. But he was warm as well-- cracks in his armour-- that he let seep out when he least suspected it. Like when he threw Zhengting a water bottle when he saw how tired he was. Or when he left the water running long enough so that the water would be warm for whoever was showering next after him and blamed it on his bad memory. Or when he beat the shit out of a senior bully trainee for almost raping that new recruit Qian Zhenghao. Or when he smiled, just barely, after he fought with Zhengting on a sweaty mat in an SM training center.

Zhengting couldn’t say he wasn’t captivated by all that. By how cold he was, how shut off he was but at the same time, so vulnerable at time with the cracks of warmth he let through. He pressed into it, forcefully and pliantly letting himself slip into those cracks until Xukun opened up and let him in just a little bit more.

But it never was all the way. He never got to hear about Xukun’s past, about his true feelings, about what he was thinking. He didn’t need to anyways, because with time, Xukun became so predictable to him he didn’t even need to think before knowing what he was going to do. He thought that it was enough, when Xukun finally let him slip into himself, when he cupped Zhengting’s face and kissed him like there was no tomorrow, when he pinned him against a wall and touched him like he meant every press of his fingers. He had what he wanted-- that cold, captivating, powerful boy who had more cracks than anyone else but held all of them together with all he had and more-- and he hoped that that would be enough. 

He should have known it wasn’t.

Maybe, no, not maybe. He  _ knows _ that it was cowardice now. It was because he was a coward that he didn’t try to force himself any more in. He felt comfortable in the edges of Xukun’s body and didn’t risk going any deeper. He didn’t want to find out what was inside there, he supposed, thinking back on it later on. Better to not know at all than to peel open the layers just to be wounded beyond repair in the end. Zhengting liked safety-- that’s why he liked Xukun, because even when he was dangerous, he was so  _ safe _ to Zhengting that it made it irresistible-- but maybe, it was more disliking risks rather than enjoying the stability. 

When Justin and Zeren and Quanzhe came to the Agency, Zhengting saw them first. Three, rag tag, bony, talented little boys that came trudging in with the same eyes he had when he first came. Two of them sleeping in his bed, one of them he had entrusted to Yanjun and Linong from the socialite department. Zhengting left Xukun’s bed in favour of the two younger ones, and when at night, he laid tangled in the sheets, one boy on each side, he stared at the ceiling and wondered if this was better than the fire Xukun’s fingers could leave burning on his skin. 

Zhengting had spent his life being left behind, being thrown away, being unwanted everywhere he went. It was only here that he had ever felt like he belonged, going on his missions, hanging out with his friends, fussing over his ‘kids’. 

But Xukun. Maybe it was because he never told him anything more than what he had to know about himself. Maybe it was because of how they were, both too stubborn and too hurt by something they didn’t want to admit that it fell apart when he realized that he had to leave. 

Before he shook Justin and Zeren awake, he had looked at Xukun’s sleeping form for a long time. He had gently touched his hair-- gently, because Xukun was a terribly light sleeper-- and looked at the curve of his eyebrows, calm and innocent for once, and for a second, even considered touching him harder to wake him up. For a second, Zhengting wanted to tell him. To confess. To ask him to tell him what he really felt and what that meant and what he wanted to do and what he was _ going _ to do. (And maybe, he was going to ask him to come too).

But he didn’t. Instead, he let his hands fall away from him and into the hands of his three little boys, dragging them out of their death sentences and out into the dead of the night.

Family. That was something Zhengting wanted, more desperately than he would have ever liked to admit. He wanted that dynamic where he could love someone enough to die for them, and know that they would do the same. Justin, Zeren, Quanzhe first let him have that, even from the early days in SM, when they would come to him when they were angry or sad, and hug him like koalas at night under the covers. Then, later on, Wenjun’s long arms became a sanctuary, and Xinchun’s hands became comfort. Chengcheng’s smile became the sun.

They were consistent. They were something sure to him. Something tangible, something he could rely on. Something he could love so easily and so simply, without any fear or any qualms at all.

It wasn’t the same with Xukun and his cold eyes and tight expression. Who fucked-- not made love to-- him like it was the only thing he ever wanted, but couldn’t hang on long enough for Zhengting to find the courage to ask him what he felt, what he wanted, why he did, if he even did at all. It was too dangerous for him, too unsafe to try to find those answers; he didn’t want to try so hard just to be let down again.

He left. And he didn’t look back. And Xukun never came to find him.

So where did he get the idea that it was because he wasn’t enough, wasn’t good enough?

***

It’s the day after, and Xingjie had called a meeting between some of the older and more experienced agents to discuss the SM break in. That would automatically include Yanchen, Ziyi, Xingjie, and Xukun. But Xingjie had turned to him too, nonchalantly shoving a spoon of rice porridge into his mouth as he spoke, “We need your input too.Too much shit has happened and we’re having it in the hospital wing anyways so that Ziyi and Yanchen don’t need to move. Be there, okay?”

So Zhengting went after he finished his baozi, meekly brushing his hair and washing his face before stepping into the hospital wings. Chengcheng and Justin were still in their little corner, Chengcheng reading a book and Justin still dead to the world under the covers, a new breathing tube inserted into his nose. But Xingjie was busy pushing Ziyi’s bed near Yanchen’s, waving off Mubo’s attempts to help and teasing Qin Fen for literally not being able to help with his bad back and legs. Yanchen himself was laughing loudly at this, looking happier than he had in months, which was saying something since Yanchen seemed to always have a smile for anyone. Zhengting smiled as well, remembering seeing him and Zeren kiss the night before, and even though he had to pull Yanchen over later on for a stern warning against hurting Zeren in any way, he had to admit this was a match he could approve. Ziyi was smiling as well, though just barely, forehead covered in a thin layer of glistening sweat. The surgery had been a success, though it must still hurt like hell if it can get Ziyi worked up so badly from just trying to move the bed. 

Zhengting walked over, brushing past Xingjie’s shoulder as he straightened up and huffed out a huge breath of air, before pulling up a chair at the end of their two beds.

“Ziyi.” he said gently, “Are you feeling alright?”

Ziyi shrugged before wincing in pain, “I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m going to worry no matter what about you.” He reached out and massaged his calf, smiling inwardly when Ziyi’s face relaxed a little.

“Hey.” Yanchen’s annoyed voice came whining from the side, “How come I don’t get that sort of treatment, even when I have three bullet holes in my leg?”

“You’re literally fine.” he said, earning a gasp from Yanchen, “You’d probably be fine even if I decapitated you. Besides,” he hit Yanchen’s good leg, “I’m not done with you for stealing my kid right under my nose.”

“We like each other!” Yanchen exclaimed, indignation painted all over his face, “What’s wrong with that?!”

Zhengting sighed comically long to Yanchen’s annoyed screech, but couldn’t keep the smile off his face. He looked up; Yanchen’s mouth was curled even wider. It felt like before, when Zhengting spent each night giggling and teasing his roommates, eyes full of stars and bad ideas rather than death around every corner.

But like he should have expected, a nice, domestic, normal moment like this couldn’t last. He heard the footsteps first, the slight drag of feet as the man padded into the room, but didn’t look back to check.

Xukun came into his field of view, face still bruised deeply and limping slightly, face and eyes stormy and dark. Zhengting tried to meet his eyes; Xukun’s eyes were on Ziyi.

“You feel better?” Xukun didn’t pause to look at Zhengting, instead, reaching out a hand and gently smoothing over Ziyi’s sweaty forehead. Stupidly, Zhengting felt his insides twist.

Ziyi leaned into his touch, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again, “Yeah. Thanks.”

“No way, you too?” Yanchen came screeching form a side. Xingjie chuckled lightly, “First Zhengting, then now you?! Where’s all the concern for me!”

“Zhengting?” At last, Xukun fixed his eyes on him. Zhengting stared at him back for an extended second, voice caught in his throat, before he had the good will to drop his gaze. He swallowed.

“Yeah. Yanchen is mad we’re only concerned for Ziyi and not for him.”

“Oh.” Xukun turned his gaze back towards his fingers in Ziyi’s hair, “If that’s the case, then it’s not important then.”

“What the fuck--”

Xingjie cleared his throat very loudly. He looked amongst them, “Are we gonna start figuring out shit sometime? We don’t have all day; I need to go help the techies to check if there have been any updates from SM or JYP.”

“Let’s start with that then.” Xukun straightened up, “First, I need to apologize to you guys about all of this.”

“There he goes again.” Yanchen rolls his eyes before turning towards Xingjie, “You owe me an entire pint of ice cream. Told you he’d start with that.”

Ziyi laughed, wheezing and wincing in pain. Zhengting didn’t smile.

So didn’t Xukun apparently, “What are you saying?” He clenched his fists in the air, “This is all my fault! I should have set us up better, been more prepared, figured out who was gonna come--”

“And see the fucking future too apparently.” Yanchen put his hand to his own lips, shushing him almost in mockery, “If you say one more word about somehow being able to know what is gonna happen at the exact locations, times, or whatever, I’m gonna levitate out of this bed and beat your ass.”

“But--”

“Xukun.” Zhengting said softly. He felt Ziyi, Xingjie, and Yanchen’s gazes on him, and flushed at the feeling. “Please.”

Xukun finally turned towards him. Zhengting swallowed, looking back the best he could at his large eyes, the placid expression in them. He stared at him for a long time, trying to decipher Xukun’s emotions, all the turbulent feelings and conflicting ideas in them. The rest of them held their breaths.

A long moment.

Then Xukun looked away, clearing his throat a little. Zhengting felt the release of the tension in his back. “Okay. Thank you guys.”

Yanchen blinked once or twice, “That was easier than expected.” Xingjie reached forward and pinched the flesh of his arm, hard. Yanchen’s shriek was loud. “I’m fucking injured! Don’t hurt me anymore or I’ll set Zeren on you!”

Zhengting smiled again, and out of the corner of his eye, he thought Xukun did too.

“Are we gonna talk some shit? I’m sore and I wanna sleep again.” Ziyi’s words were biting but barely held any real annoyance. He was as calm as ever, and had Xukun’s hand loosely in his own. Though he knew that it wasn’t anything important, and that he ought to be happy Ziyi has the strength to joke around, Zhengting felt the creepings of irritation up his neck at the sight of their loosely enveloped hands. He shook himself hard; this wasn’t the time for that.

“Yes.” Xingjie confirmed. “Let’s start with SM.”

“Park Chanyeol got away with the five foot something cutie.” Yanchen chimed in, “Man he was so hot. I’d have popped a boner if he didn’t have a gun at my head.”

“Don’t let Zeren hear that.” Ziyi scolded gently, “But yeah. Who was that?”

Xingjie sighed, “Thank god we have the best hackers all congregated here. Yanchen gave the description to Xiao Gui yesterday and just this morning, he’s found some clues.”

“And?” Xukun furrowed his eyebrows.

“Byun Baekhyun.” Xingjie let his gaze sweep across them, “He thinks it’s Byun.”

“How can you be sure?” Ziyi frowned, “For all we know, no one knows shit about this guy. How can you just pin him down as the guy that’s basically never been seen before?”

“Because,” he answers patiently, “He came for Park Chanyeol without any real SM support.”

There was a pregnant moment where this seemed to sink in. Zhengting stared at Xingjie, mind stumbling over itself to catch up. Yanchen spoke first.

“What are you saying?” Yanchen exclaimed, “No SM support?! What the fuck just happened last night Xingjie?! Have you forgotten already about the ambush.”

A murmur of general agreement. Xingjie leaned forward in his chair.

“No, but I do think it logically makes sense, what Xiao Gui is saying--”

“--you’re basically dating him, that’s why--”

“-- because, think about it. We know just how many forces SM has. If they really caught a whiff of where we were, don’t you think they’d send more men to just try and annihilate us completely? They’re not stupid-- they know that they would be dealing with some of the best assassins in the entire country, and maybe for some,” he glanced at Zhengting and Xukun, “even the world. As well, why would they fall back? As soon as they realized that Yanchen was taking Park Chanyeol with him on a retreat, they immediately dispersed, as if they knew that that was the sole reason they were fighting in the first place. If it was SM, don’t you think they’d just press on and try to kill two birds with one stone?”

Another pause.

Ziyi’s voice was controlled and tentative, “So, maybe it wasn’t full blown SM. Why do you think it would be Byun Baekhyun then?”

Xingjie raised an eyebrow, “Did you hear Yanchen talk about what he looked like? Don’t you think that that fits the ex-ace of the socialite department description? And are you forgetting that the only thing we have on him, the  _ only  _ rumour that he has ever been associated with, is that he’s in love with Park Chanyeol, the head of the prostitution branch at SM?”

Zhengting let the information sink into him. It seemed to make sense. An ex-socialite, a fucking good one at that, taking his own personal forces to come break his lover out. Not telling the rest of SM because they might just kill Chanyeol afterwards for letting himself be captured. Falling back and not killing Yanchen or Zeren afterwards because the Retributation was coming and he needed to get his lover home safe. 

He glanced around the room, seeing the realization set into the rest of their faces. He met Xukun’s eyes, then looked away.

“It makes sense, I guess.” Yanchen said slowly, “He  _ was _ really attractive. Everything else fits too.”

“Okay, but say we do conclude that that was Byun Baekhyun, what now? How did he know where to find us?” Xukun asked, running a hand through his hair, “JYP?”

A cold chill crept down Zhengting’s back. He felt himself tense up, “If you’re gonna blame Cheng or Justin, just don’t.”

“I’m not.” Xukun looked at Zhengting with an almost angry spark in his eyes, as if he was upset Zhengting thought so low of him, “I’m just wondering how Byun Baekhyun found out about us, and the best answer would be JYP, if Chengcheng’s memories of Bingbing threatening him are to be taken seriously.”

“JYP does have an incredible technology department.” Xingjie muttered derisively, “Even Xiao Gui can admit that.”

“Maybe better than we thought too.” Yanchen said darkly, “If they could find out where we’re located, then they must be amazing at sifting up info.” He glanced around, “You guys realize that we can’t let that slide, right? We’re gonna have to find a new base, at least until we know that there isn’t a huge threat coming our direction again.”

“Fuck.” Xukun swore. He yanked blindly behind him for a chair, and pulled it roughly under him, “That’s gonna be a huge pain.”

“We have to--”

“Yeah, I know.” he rubbed at his eyes, “Okay fine. Let’s assign someone to find somewhere, clear somewhere out. Who should we put on the job?”

“Well, last time it was me--” Ziyi said quickly, before being roughly cut off.

“Yeah, don’t even think about it. You have a fucking hole through your body right now. There’s no way.” Xukun snapped. He reached over and gently slapped Ziyi’s face. Zhengting felt his insides clench.

“He’s right.” Xingjie shot a glance at Zhengting before looking back at him, “Why don’t we try putting Nong, Yanjun, and Zhangjing on it? It might be easy if we try letting them clear some safe house out from the inside, rather than the rest of us just charging in. Quanzhe maybe can help out too.”

“Is Zhangjing gonna be okay though?” Yanchen asked carefully.

“He is.” Zhengting filled in, “Zhangjing is strong. I think it would do him good to try to do some agent work. We don’t have to force it on him either. As long as we make him feel included-- try to return some of normalcy in his life-- I think it should be beneficial for him.”

“Someone is sounding pretty motherly to me.” Yanchen sniggered, “Zhengting is a mom at like twenty something.”

“Shut up.” But Zhengting couldn’t help the smile creeping across his face.

If Xukun was watching him from a side, he didn’t see it.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah the meeting isnt done yet. i just needed to cut it off here for now. 
> 
> holy im so sorry this took so long. promise next one won't take that long... i hope... uni apps are killing me.
> 
> pls comment n kudos; they keep me alive. i love reading ur comments so much because it gives me motivation n inspo :3


	59. Ziyi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uni apps forgive me until january
> 
> check out my girl @mifan with her new idol producer story "smile and say "it will be okay"" at https://archiveofourown.org/works/21868921/chapters/52196173. she's my day one, and u should check her work out :)

Zhengting, Ziyi thinks, really does have the prettiest smile around. With his crinkly eyes and perfect smile, it’s so sweet and devastating at the same time, he doesn’t think anyone can rival it.

Well, maybe that’s not true. Yanchen’s grinning back at him, cat-like smile bright enough to put the sun to shame, eyes both mischievous and endearing. Then, even though he’s not here at the moment, there’s Nong’s adorable grin that you can’t help but love him for, and Yanjun’s flirty smile that can make people faint or, in some contexts, shit themselves in fear.

But even if all of them were smiling with him right now, he doubts he’d be looking at anyone but Xukun.

His best friend’s eyes are wide, so focused the pupils are blown wide and trembling, mouth not open but quivering slightly. As if he’s used to the dazzling effect of Zhengting’s real smile, but still can’t get over how much it can affect him. But then he blinks, and it’s gone, and Xukun is looking down at Ziyi again.

He feels guilty about letting him get hurt, Ziyi knows that. Basic injuries are one thing but he had to admit this one had been bad; the knife they stabbed him with was long, and it went right through his side. Thank god Nongnong had gotten to him fast enough; Ziyi wouldn’t have been able to dodge the next stab while both trying to crawl away as well as staunch the spurt of blood from his body. 

“So… now that that’s settled, what are we gonna do about JYP, or SM for that matter?” Xingjie looked at him, eyebrows furrowed. Ziyi watched as the smiles slipped off Yanchen’s and Zhengting’s faces, and Xukun finally tearing his eyes away from where the scar on his side is. 

“If you’re gonna say anything about Chengcheng-”

“No, I’m not.” Xingjie laid a hand on Zhengting’s thigh, “I’m not going to blame Chengcheng at all, or ask him anything. I’m just asking how we should deal with their tech base. Because even if we do get a new backup base, that doesn’t mean that JYP won’t dig up any new info, or just more stuff we didn’t think they could know.”

“Are they that good?” he rasps, thinking of Jeffrey typing away for hours on his computers. “I know you said they are but that much? We’re pretty good at covering stuff up too.”

“According to Xiao Gui, they’re like a team of him and Jeffrey’s.”

Xingjie raised an eyebrow, and Xukun swore under his breath, “We’re gonna need to take care of them then.”

“But how?” Yanchen drawls, not looking bothered at all. “They’re a bunch of nerds at a computer. Locked in the JYP basement. How the fuck do you propose we go get them?”

“Yanchen, you can bar people digitally too!” Xingjie sounded offended, probably more for Xiao Gui. “We can get Gui, Jeffrey, and Xinchun to set up firewalls and info encryptors. That we can hope could work.”

“Let’s do it.” Ziyi interrupted, “I don’t think we should risk an attack on JYP when we have that shit with Byun Baekhyun.” Something tickles at the back of his mind, “But don’t let Chengcheng know. He already has enough to stress about.”

Zhengting turns his eyes towards him, relieved and thankful. Ziyi feels his insides clench; Xukun’s fingers have ground down on his.

“Okay.” Xingjie agrees, “Digital barrier for JYP. What about SM? What are we gonna do about Byun Baekhyun.”

“I think we need to kick his ass.” Yanchen grins, out of place. Xingjie scowls at him. “We figure out where the little twerp lives, bust in, and beat his ass until he knows who’s boss.”

“What the fuck.” Xukun deadpans, “You just skipped like a hundred steps getting there.”

“What?” Yanchen looks at them defiantly, almost offended, “You think Xiao Gui and Jeffrey aren’t skilled enough to find dirt on them? And now we know what he looks like as well. We can do some digital shit and scour all the security cameras of the biggest cities until we find his face. We know what the helicopter looks like, and we still haven’t searched all the bodies yet either. You don’t think we can find anything? If not Byun Baekhyun, we find info on Park Chanyeol. They can’t be that good and hiding their tracks.”

“He’s got a point, for once.” Xingjie jabs Yanchen’s arm, “I can agree with him this time.”

“Of course you do. I’m a fucking genius.” Yanchen rolls his eyes, “And we need to start training too. As soon as we find his location, his love nest, his hole, whatever, we go bust his ass.”

“Okay.” Xukun agreed. He stood up, pulling Ziyi’s hand up a bit before Ziyi winced and he gently let it down. Zhengting’s eyes followed them. “We can start preparing, training just a bit. Can’t hurt to have better agents, right? If we can’t have a break-in at least we can defend ourselves better if anything else comes.”

“Is this meeting over?” Yanchen groaned, shifting a bit. “I want to be put down a little, my ass and leg hurts like a bitch.”

“You asshole.” Xingjie scolded, fondness in his eyes, “Ziyi has a fucking hole in his stomach and I don’t hear him complaining.”

“Ziyi’s a rock! Look at all those muscles!” 

Zhengting laughed, gasping and light. Yanchen laughed too, a bright happy sound that complemented Xingjie’s deep chuckle. If he looked to his side, he could see Xukun’s slight smile, almost bashful, almost happy or innocent for once. It was so intimate and so family-like, Ziyi couldn’t help but smile as well, even if he usually didn’t do so. 

As Xingjie wheeled Yanchen back to his corner, and Zhengting stood up to go check up on Chengcheng and Justin in their little cubicle, Xukun laid his hand on Ziyi’s head, sat down, and smiled.

***

That was one of the most normal conversations he’s had in a while with Xukun, Ziyi decided, after the boy left to help Ruibin with something. So normal and light and funny in contrast to the stressed out Xukun he was used to recently. 

They hadn’t even talked about anything super important. Just about possible training regimens they could instill and what they would have to pack up if they did move to a safe house for the time being. But although he laughed and joked around, Ziyi couldn’t miss the guilt in his eyes as he turned down towards him, or the way he couldn’t stop his eyes drifting towards where Zhengting was playing with Justin’s hands and trying to get Chengcheng to talk to him.

He sighed, wanting to rub his eyes but not able to. The day was hot and overly sunny, and Mubo had ushered everyone out of the room earlier so that they could rest up. Ziyi wanted to comment on the bandages around Mubo’s own head, but the man had looked so scary for a second, he bit back his words. Technically he should be sleepy, with all the painkillers and the regenerative tissue medications he was on, but for now, the closest he could get to sleep was listening to Yanchen’s snores mixed in with the other injured agents of the hospital wing.

Ziyi’s side throbbed as he pushed himself up slightly, but he ignored it. If he leaned forward enough, he could see Qin Fen, Mubo, and Wenjun bustling around in the medical room, probably making another large batch of tissue regenerative dressings. He wanted to get up and go help out, maybe get Qin Fen to stop trying to look cool by lifting some heavy bag of powder when his back and legs were bad enough already, but his side hurt badly, and even if he could, he doubted Mubo wouldn’t spring on him at once.

He laid back, staring at the ceiling, wishing that there could be something to do so that his mind wasn’t constantly wandering to how much work he was missing or any other SM affairs, when he heard the medical wing door creak open.

Ziyi looked to the side, catching Jeffrey as he slipped through the doors, bashfully carrying a plate of peeled apples. Ziyi smiled, “Came to see me?”

“Who else only eats peeled apples?” Jeffrey retorts, setting the plate by Ziyi’s table. He picks a piece of apple up with his chopsticks and holds it to Ziyi’s lips.

“Okay.” he says, opening his mouth so that Jeffrey can place the apple in, “That’s a fair point.”

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Jeffrey’s face is expressionless.

“Bored. Mind’s wandering too much. Feel like I’m wasting time.”

He gives him a pointed look, Ziyi shakes his head, “No, no. I know exactly what you’re gonna say--”

“Good. Then I shouldn’t need to reiterate myself.” Jeffrey sits down at his feet, running a hand through his fluffy black hair, “You need to take a break, Ziyi, and this is a good time to do it.”

“When I’m injured?”

“All the time, really.” he hits his leg gently, “You’re always working or doing something, and you think so much about what other people want or need that you don’t give enough time to yourself.”

“You’re like that too!” Ziyi retorts, finding it incredibly difficult to be angry at Jeffrey, “You’re always working on the techie projects, so much at this point, I don’t even remember what you look like without dark bags.”

“Yeah, but that’s cause I’m not at direct risk most of the time! You’re literally going out there and getting skewered. The only reason you’re alive is because Nongnong saved your ass last second!”

Jeffrey, to Ziyi’s surprise, looks angry for once. Not in his expression or brows, just a slight turbulence in his eyes that he wouldn’t have ever imagined on Jeffrey. In fact, it takes a long moment for Ziyi to tear his eyes away from Jeffrey’s angry ones, “Okay, I’ll take a break. After this period of time. We just got a new idea for--”

“You guys never run out of ideas that need you to overwork yourself. I’m just seeing if you can relax a bit so you don’t get hurt again. Do you know how scared I was last night?”

The anger in his pupils soften until they’re more scared and sad than anger. Ziyi’s equally captivated, “Yeah, thanks for keeping me company during my surgery yesterday. Felt much safer when you were there.” He barely remembers Jeffrey’s face during the surgery; he was so delirious with the blood loss and painkillers that all he could sense were the strong fingers locked around his. They had felt good, stabilizing in a way, safe.

“No problem.” Jeffrey said curtly, standing abruptly, “Go to sleep and don’t think about work again, that’s all I need to ask you.”

He swept himself out the door, Ziyi following him with his eyes each step of the way, wondering why he’s so angry over a problem Ziyi has by himself.

As Jeffrey slips back out the door and leaves him in the hot, bright sun alone again, he feels his chest twinge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh ziyi. less angst this chapt, hope u like :)
> 
> comments n kudos always loved <3


	60. Chengcheng

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god

What Fan Chengceng has come to realize over these past few weeks is that his life is much smaller than he imagined.

That’s not entirely true. It’s true that before he got dumped in that ditch and saved by Justin, he had had the same sort of narrow perspective: train, eat, kill, sleep, repeat. He had known it was bad then, crippling him from the inside, but his entire world seemed to expand and float away after Zhu Zhengting took him in and he began getting dragged around by Justin’s ideas, Zeren’s brashness, Quanzhe’s sadism, Xinchun’s homeliness, or Wenjun’s kindness. Like he was getting a taste of everything he missed out in the first sixteen or so years of his life all at once. 

But now, with Justin gone, everything seemed to go back to how it was before at JYP. When his entire being only seemed to really exist in the crypts of his mind and chest.

Technically, Justin is still here with him, alive and kicking, but even Chengcheng can’t deny that he’s just barely there. With his heart beating so slow Chengcheng has to crane his ears and press his face against his chest to hear it and his entire body limp as a rag doll, sometimes he almost forgets that his Justin is still in there, all of the stupidity and mischief and recklessness. 

It’s bad. 

It’s really fucking bad.

The others come and go, and some rational part of himself knows that they’re all suffering along with him. Zhengting, for instance, thinks that he’s a good enough agent to cover up all his emotion under a mask, but Chengcheng can tell just by a quick glance at the eyes that his heart is breaking each time he looks at him. He loves Justin, that’s indisputable. He even gave Xukun up to love him. Everyone loves Justin.

He misses him.

But that same rational part of himself that’s telling him that he’s being unreasonable, that the others are hurting and he has no right to act the way he has been by just staring at him like he was a corpse or something just isn’t strong enough to overcome the desperately selfish part of him that needs Justin. Wants him back more than anything. That makes his world collapse on top of each other and time to float by much more quickly but much more convoluted than he remembers.

Chengcheng can’t seem to forget the drench of blood across his own clothing when he yanked his door open and Justin fell into him. Sometimes, when he has the courage to touch Justin’s hand, limp and barely warm enough to signify life, he can still feel the stickiness of his blood on his skin, the gush that splattered over his hands and dripped onto the floor. He smells the metallic tang of Justin’s blood, and he sees his eyes that last second before he was out, the total, infuriating satisfaction reflected back that tells him Justin was delighted in throwing away his own life just to get Chengcheng back home. 

But then he blinks, and he’s back in the hospital wing, muscles stiffer than ever and hands cold without familiar fingers to slip into them. 

Then, other times, he can’t touch Justin at all. He spends his time, reading, looking, thinking, whatever it is that goes through his head, always beside Justin’s bed, only able to glance at him occasionally. The thing is, though he needs to stay close to him, cherish each bit of Justin that he has that he might have taken for granted before, he sometimes doesn’t have the will to look at the tubes in Justin’s nose and into his flesh.

Today is one of those days. Chengcheng sits there at his usual chair, shirtless except for the bandages that wrap around his chest and abdomen, reading some sort of comic book Dinghao and Xinchun were trying to get him to try out. He’s skimming over the words and pictures, colours bright and childish, and maybe it’s funny like they promised. He doesn’t laugh.

Zhengting had just left the medical center, cheerfully telling Chengcheng that he should probably go help with the body cleanup. Outside, he can hear his shrill voice as he shrieks at Quanzhe to stop doing whatever he’s doing, then some loud scuffling noises and swearing. 

Yanchen is dozing lightly, and if Chengcheng glances at him, he can see the slight smile decorating his lips. Natural, if yesterday’s show with Zeren was anything to judge. Zeren had looked so happy, Yanchen even more so; he was happy for them, but somewhere inside his rocky chest, it stung to see someone so clearly happy when he was still trapped in a haze, not even knowing apparently of Zeren and Yanchen’s mutual attraction. 

Ziyi is there too, probably not sleeping by the total lack of noise he makes. He had a really shitty injury, Chengcheng knows that much. He knows that they’re planning to make a move on SM too, maybe investigate some Baek-Hun dude, find a new base, but it doesn’t resonate with him. Not really.

Somewhere in his peripheral vision, he can sense someone coming up behind him. He immediately bristles up, despite knowing that there’s nothing wrong, not here at this time. It’s only when Wenjun drapes a comforting hand on his shoulder that he relaxes.

“Hey. You okay?” Wenjun swerves around so that he’s kneeling in front of Chengcheng, gently touching the bandages on his chest and side but looking into his eyes like he knows that that’s where the real damage was done.

“Mmm.” he grunts, trying not to tear his eyes away from his book. Wenjun puts his hand on his page.

“Good, because I need to talk to you about something.”

“What.” Chengcheng looks up, a little aggression in his voice. He knows he’s being rude, but he almost knows what this is going to be about, if Wenjun’s tone is anything to base his predictions off.

“It’s about Justin.” And even if he’s expecting it, the name itself makes him tense up like a board, the book slipping from his fingers. He glances at the boy on the bed once, blond hair mussed over his forehead, now dressed in loose clothing rather than just bandages like before, before he has to look back. 

Chengcheng forces himself to meet Wenjun’s eyes. They’re kind as usual, but it stings more because it reminds him how selfish he’s been about this all. “What about him?”

Wenjun is the kindest, possibly the most selfless person he knows. He can’t do any great acts of self-sacrifice, no throwing himself into a fight just to save another, but he can give up more than he lets on if it means that the rest of them are happy. But, one thing that he refuses to do, even for their benefit, is sugar coat something. Maybe it’s the result of him putting up a front for most of his life, all the lying and stilted saccharine. Chengcheng understands, but he can’t help but grow defensive at what he knows is coming.

“Chengcheng.” Wenjun says gently, “I’m having this conversation with you because Justin has been in a coma for over a month now, and my recent brain scans for him show that he isn’t getting better.”

It’s like he’s been doused with ice cold water, the chill immediately seeping into his bones, cutting through the defenses he’s so carefully built up. And though he’s already stiff as a board, his entire body seems to seize up at Wenjun’s words, throat so constricted he can barely speak.

“What the fuck do you mean?” the words come out harsher than he expected. 

Wenjun takes a deep breath and takes the book away from Chengcheng’s hands. He clutches them instead with his own, looking directly into his eyes.

“Justin is suffering, Chengcheng. Being in a coma for so long is killing him.”

At once, Chengcheng is on him, grasping the front of Wenjun’s clothes so hard his knuckles turn white, “What?! Don’t we have the best medical equipment on him? It’s only been a couple of weeks! How can you say that!”

Wenjun just looks at him. His eyes are dark and rippling with pain, “I don’t know. The brain scans are showing that he’s hurting though, and that his brain is getting weaker each day. Now, even if he does wake up, I’m not sure if he’ll be entirely the same as before.”

“No.” he whispers pathetically. Chengcheng shakes Wenjun, hard, “You’re wrong. Justin’s fine. He has a couple of scars. He’s been out. He’ll get better. He’s fine. You’re wrong.” It’s like his mind is scrambling around, frantically looking for any exit to what Wenjun just told him. It has to be wrong. Justin is strong. He’s ready to wake up at any moment, alive and bright and stupid as always. Wenjun is wrong.

The look Wenjun gives him is piercing, damaging, and comforting all at once. With just one sweep of his eyes, Chengcheng knows that he’s not hiding anything from him, and is saying exactly what he thinks is true. He’s very careful that way, kind enough to hold back, but not sugarcoating anything that’s truly important. Chengcheng doesn’t know if he hates it.

But then, Wenjun stands up. “Do you need some time?”

He nods stiffly, staring at his legs.

A hand on the back of his neck, caressing him in the way Chengcheng has come to love and trust, “I know you can do it, Cheng. Do it for him. He’d want it.”

And he’s gone.

It’s funny, almost. Chengcheng can almost laugh with how stupid it all is.

Because Wenjun, kind as always, has just done the most cruel thing Chengcheng can ever imagine. So many nights has Chengcheng sat staring at Justin’s cold form, letting that treacherous part of his mind take over, shivering at the idea that he might, just might, never wake up. He’d shrugged it off, put it away, squashed that fear down to the back of his mind, never letting himself really think what might happen, because he doesn’t have the right to be this selfish and feel despair when it’s not him that’s suffering in the depths of a coma.

But now, he has to. Chengcheng raises his head and looks right into Justin’s sleeping face.

There’s that scar he’s always had, just under his chin, from when he jumped into a fight with too many men even for someone as extraordinary as Justin, and had gotten a knife pressed into his throat before Chengcheng saw red. That mole by his nose. The long lashes. That new scar he got at JYP, stark and white against tanned skin, cut neatly into his eyebrow.

It hurts more than he’d ever thought looking at him so lifeless, but he can’t even begin to think about how painful doing what Wenjun is implying would be.

Because what Chengcheng’s come to realize over the past weeks, is that he desperately, pitifully needs Huang Minghao.

He needs him to climb onto his bed and flop onto his chest, ugly laughing when Chengcheng gets the air knocked out of him and spends the next bit cursing him out. He needs him to randomly sock him in the nuts or shins when he’s brushing his teeth, then shrieking and running when Chengcheng almost chokes on his toothbrush. He needs him to convince him to buy him all the snacks he wants at the market and risk suffering Zhengting’s wrath by spending all of the money on candy instead of meat. He needs him to hug him when he doesn’t want to get out of bed in the morning, to hold his hand when he’s stressed, to be there for him, all the time.

He needs him, so fucking bad.

When he realized that, last night, after seeing that SM agent lean into Justin’s face and lick under his ear, Chengcheng had stopped and sobbed because he didn’t know what to do.

Justin is like a ray of light, a firecracker, a star that refuses to be extinguished, no matter what happens. He’s the boy who’s stupidly talented at being fucked up, but still good enough to take that bit of  _ boy _ left of him to make it work. He’s the one who saved Chengcheng all those years ago, still does, is dying because he saved him again and Chengcheng couldn’t be there for him when he needed it.

How could he ever let him go?

But then, how could he not?

Justin isn’t made to stay in a shell of a person. He’s not meant to be a husk lying in a bed, a stupid machine the only thing keeping his heart going. 

He’s meant to be played with, joked with, beaten up, comforted, laughed at, petted, taken care of, cherished.

Loved.

Can he have one with the other?

Chengcheng closes his eyes. 

Very gently, that little part of him that’s buried deep in his cold heart, that throbbing core that was rekindled by a blond boy in a dusty pit, that Justin owns, dominates, has always belonged to, tells him  _ no _ .

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god.


	61. Yanjun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally

Yanjun spots him quietly poking at his bowl of rice soup at the table at the far end of the cafeteria. 

“Zhangjing.” He reaches down and brushes the shorter boy’s sweatshirt, “There he is.”

Zhangjing, more concerned and eager than he had seen him in weeks, springs forward, brown curls bobbing on his head, tugging Yanjun’s good arm in the process. The cafeteria is mostly empty, most opting to eat their meals with the injured in the hospital wing. It had caused a mini riot in the medics (mostly Han Mubo) about keeping everything clean and sanitized, but unsurprisingly, not many listened, most still shaken over the near-death experience they could have had yesterday night.

Chen Linong looks up when they’ve gotten near enough, and Yanjun is almost surprised at the completely innocent, deer-in-headlights look he has on. It’s almost as if he doesn’t think they’d worry about him at all after fighting so much-- even killing someone who had nearly killed Ziyi, he’d heard from Jeffrey-- but not showing up at their room for the night like he should have.

“Nongnong!” Zhangjing immediately springs on him, siding up against him and cupping his hands around his face, “Where were you last night?”

Nong just widens his eyes even more. Yanjun scoffs as he settles on Zhangjing’s other side, “Don’t act like you don’t know what we’re talking about. You didn’t come back to the room last night.”

Nongnong just looks at Yanjun, and, fuck. Yanjun was wrong; there  _ is _ genuine confusion in the boy’s eyes. He’s just not sure why he would be lost about anything.

“I had some stuff to do.” Nongnong says tentatively, letting Zhangjing pat his hair, “Did you sleep well?”

This seems to strike a nerve in Zhangjing, who pinches his cheek roughly, “No, I didn’t! And I know you haven’t been either! Care to tell us why you’ve been pretending to sleep, telling us that you’ve gotten over your insomnia, when in reality you’ve been up all night doing god knows what?”

Nongnong glances at Yanjun again, a plead in his eyes. Yanjun raises his eyebrow and shakes his head, putting on his best stern face. 

Even if he didn’t like to admit it, he cared about his Nongnong. Zhangjing didn’t even have to give up any of his pride or image to show how much he adored him, and this together had drawn them to the conclusion yesterday night, as they lay in Zhangjing’s bed together, wide awake and waiting for Nongnong to come toeing into the room, that they needed to get to the bottom of his brooding. When Nongnong didn’t show up, combined with how he hadn’t been in his bed the night before either and was actually the one who spotted the incoming attack, they had resolved to get it out of him.

So be stern it was. Nongnong glanced down furtively, before Zhangjing was tilting his face up a bit and leaning in slightly.

“Hey.” Zhangjing said gently, “What’s wrong? Yanjun and I have been worried sick.”

Nongnong looks uncomfortable. He’s always been unwilling to talk about his feelings, Yanjun knows, even if he has the same problem. Years of putting up a front, he supposes, have dulled their abilities to say what they truly feel or mean, he can attest to that. But because he’s softer than he’d like to admit, and because now that he’s gotten his head out of his ass and can see just how sallow Nongnong’s skin has gotten and how dark those circles under his eyes are, he reaches around Zhangjing and touches the small of the boy’s back. Zhangjing makes an indignant squawk at the proximity, but now he’s gotten Linong’s attention.

“I-I can’t sleep.” 

Yanjun raises his eyebrows again, “You think?”

“Why didn’t you tell us, Nong?” Zhangjing looks hurt that he’d keep something away from them for that long. Yanjun wants to whisper to him to not be so obvious about his own concerns, but he knows that Nongnong is too perceptive anyways to not pick up even if he did try to hide it.

Nongnong turns back into his bowl, “I-I just didn’t want to be a burden, that’s all.”

The words hit him hard, and Yanjun just stares at him for a full second, watching the black haired boy stir his salty vegetables and porridge around, thinking back to when he had first met him in those SM training rooms, struggling along to perfect his moves by copying Yanjun’s stance when he could have just turned around and asked. Who made friends with Yanjun even when he was an arrogant prick, disliked by most of the other trainees in the socialite department and quite honestly, the entire SM branch. Nongnong’s always been reluctant to ask for help, not because he’s too proud or anything, but rather because he’s always afraid of the harm it could bring rather than his own benefit. He was scared of waking Yanjun up each night even when he barely slept at all, letting himself waste away instead of poking Yanjun and falling asleep in minutes. 

It was when Zhangjing came along that he started reaching out a bit more, asking Zhangjing to stay with him before he slept. If Yanjun wasn’t a self-absorbed asshole he’d maybe pay a bit more attention, climb down there with them each night and join in their peaceful pre-sleep rituals. He didn’t though, and now he’s trying to make up for it.

Before Zhangjing can say anything, Yanjun leans across and puts his hand on Linong’s shoulder, “We would never think of you as a burden.” He swallows, “ _ I  _ would never think of you that way.”

Linong turns gently to him, staring at him for a long moment. Zhangjing is squirming between them, muttering quietly to stop squishing him, but Yanjun can’t tear his eyes away from Linong’s. He feels naked, because even if he knows how good he is at it, Linong’s looking at him with those uncomfortably piercing eyes, the only part that doesn’t match how cute the rest of him appears. He swallows again. Linong catches him and glances down at the boy between them, then back at Yanjun. 

_ Is he trying to say something?  _ Yanjun thinks, lost. Linong doesn’t look at someone for this long this way unless he’s figured something out about them. Just to confirm, he glances down at Zhangjing as well, still complaining about the awkward proximity. But when he looks up, the intensity in Linong’s eyes has just increased, the gaze sending a rush of heat down into his toes. 

“I don’t.” He says meekly, because even if he was the ace socialite, Nongnong, gentle, sweet, quiet Nongnong, is scaring the shit out of him just by how he’s looking at him.

Linong seems to ignore the comment, now shifting his gaze to almost unimpressed. He glances down at Zhangjing again before fixing his eyes on him again, more knowing than Yanjun can tolerate.

Then, finally, he lets him go. “Okay.” Linong says, turning away and looking back at his porridge, “Thank you.”

Zhangjing presses forward, “No, we’re serious. What’s bothering you? Why did you lie to us? I’m not mad, I promise. I just want my Nongnong back.”

To his relief, Linong doesn’t give Zhangjing the same look as he did to Yanjun. He just looks at him, eyes wide once more, obviously torn between saying it or not. Zhangjing catches on, because even if he’s not a socialite and hasn’t trained in reading emotions like him and Nong, he can figure Nongnong out when he’s this obvious.

“You can say it. I just want to know, Nongnong.”

Nongnong pokes at his porridge again, speaking slowly, more into the spoon than at anything else, “I… I just wanted to give you and Yanjun some space.” Then, he looks up quickly at Zhangjing’s stunned face, and carries on quickly, “Because I know you haven’t been well, and I just-- I just thought that you shouldn’t have to put up with me when you need Yanjun.”

Zhangjing is quiet. Yanjun looks at Nongnong until the boy meets his eyes again, miserable.

He fills in the gaps himself, “We still need you to let us know when you’re unwell. We’re concerned. Right, Zhangjing?”

He tacks the last part on, a little desperately. He can feel the burn of Linong’s stare in the side of his head, the sensation sending more waves of heat down his body.

“Yeah.” Zhangjing says absentmindedly, “Yeah.”

“Oh, Zhangjing. I’m sorry, I shouldn't've said that. I-I’m not saying you’re weak or anything, you know that right? You asked and I just-”

“It’s fine, Nongnong.” Zhangjing turns to him with a wide, sunny smile, “I did ask. And I’m glad you care so much about me.” Then, he waves a finger at him, almost childishly, “But I don’t want you to neglect yourself just so that I can get to sleep without having to worry a bit about you. You not sleeping is gonna cause me more stress than if you are.”

Linong nods. Yanjun huffs out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“So, from now on, we’re gonna get you to sleep each night.” Zhangjing turns to him meaningfully, “And this time, Yanjun is gonna get his lazy ass to help.”

“Uh huh.” Yanjun grunts. Linong smiles at him.

“And, by the way. Where did you go each night after we were asleep?” Zhangjing pokes Linong in the side, “You were with Bi Wenjun when the sirens went off. What’s up with that?”

Linong hesitates for a moment, looking at Yanjun again. Yanjun gives him a look that says  _ well? _ , because quite honestly, he’s curious too.

“I’ve been spending time with him these nights.” he admits, scraping his bowl with his spoon, “He’s a nice person.”

“Hmm.” Zhangjing says thoughtfully, “He is. Very quiet though. You’re quiet, he’s quiet. How do you guys even talk?”

Linong looks lost again, “W-we just do sometimes. His voice is really nice. I like his accent.” Seemingly remembering something, he continues quickly, “And when you guys were staying in the medical wing, he’d come over sometimes, just to sit at the foot of my bed and watch me, you know, nothing special. He says he does it for Zhengting too.”

Nongnong letting someone else help him with his insomnia? That, Yanjun hasn’t heard of before. By Zhangjing’s surprised look, he can tell he’s not the only one.

“Really?” Zhangjing exclaims, “Well, I better go thank him sometime for taking care of my Nongnong. What do you guys even talk about? Medical techniques?”

Linong looks a little uncomfortable, and Yanjun finds it in himself to blurt out, “They’re both quiet. They probably just stare at each other while sitting on the roof. Wenjun seems like someone who’d do that with you.”

He nods stupidly. Yanjun grins, even if, somewhere in his chest, his heart is beating wildly, everything jumbled up. He still feels the burn of Linong’s stare, is still shaken by what he could know that he can’t even figure out for himself. 

Luckily for him, he doesn’t have to. Zhu Xingjie slides into the bench in front of them, meat bun in hand, shattering the tense atmosphere between them. He’s smiling.

“Yo, Yanjun. Your arm and hand okay? Heard of how you beat the shit out of that one guy barefisted from Xiao Gui.” He takes a bite out of his bun.

Yanjun groans a little, heart twisting confusingly, “Ah. Not barefisted though. Had the brass knuckles on.”

“The ones Zhangjing got for you?” Xingjie isn’t even looking at him, still munching away at the bun.

“Mmm.” he hums as a response, heart beating wildly again. He glances furtively at Zhangjing, who isn’t looking at him either, then up, then tears his eyes away fast because Linong is fixing another one of those stares on him.

“You did good. And you Zhangjing. I saw how you prevented that dude from stabbing Yanjun’s eye out. You were good.” Zhangjing grins, though it’s lopsided. “And you, Nong. I gotta thank you. You saved Ziyi’s ass there. He was talking about it all morning when he was still a little dopey from them painkillers.”

Nongnong nods. Xingjie’s face hardens, “Okay, bad news time. I hate pushing shit onto you guys when we literally were attacked just yesterday, but it’s urgent.”

“What’s up?” Zhangjing nods. Xingjie looks surprised for a second that Zhangjing is this eager, then brushes the look off his face quickly and carries on.

“Well, since SM somehow found our base, we’re gonna have to retreat to some sort of emergency base for the time being.” He grins, “We need to find this place, and find it fast. It can be our vacation home before we get back here.”

Yanjun suddenly catches onto what Xingjie is saying, “Oh. Where do you want the place?”

Xingjie laughs, amusement in his eyes. “Oh? Yanjun catching on so fast?” He pops the last bit of bun in his mouth, “Anywhere is fine. Preferably a bit near here, deserted shit and all. Doesn’t need to be near the city or anything-- the car is fast enough.”

“Another mansion?” Nongnong tries.

“Yeah, something like that.” Xingjie shrugs, “Just go kill some mafia boss’ son and take his crib, I don’t care. Just get us a base ASAP so that I can sleep without being in constant fear that I’m gonna wake up with a gun in my face.”

“We’ll do it.” Zhangjing decides for them. Yanjun looks at him in amazement.

“You sure?” Xingjie looks serious now, “I know you haven’t been feeling well, Zhangjing. If you can’t, that’s fine. I can just ask--”

“No. It’s fine. I think it’ll be good for me if I do some actual work instead of just moping around, cooking and reading.” Zhangjing nudges the both of them, “What about you guys?”

Yanjun has to admit that he’s barely gone on a mission ever since Zhangjing was attacked, But even if he was sick of them, he’d still agree if this was going to be a mission Zhangjing was going to try again. As well, he’d get to work with Nongnong again; the missions where all three of them were part of at the same time were the best.

“I’m okay with it.” Yanjun announces. Nongnong grunts in agreement.

“Great.” Xingjie stands, “I’m gonna need to go help the techies compile some data for our next target. You guys get to work figuring out where you should attack and how we’re gonna the base.”

“Roger that.” Zhangjing laughs gently, “And thank you, Xingjie, for letting me come back.”

Xingjie looks incredibly fond for a moment, ruffling Zhangjing’s hair. Yanjun’s heart starts beating fast again, and he glares at him. Xingjie grins back.

“Don’t thank me. Thank Zhengting. He said that it would be good if you could get back into the field. We missed you, especially the techies.”

“Even Gui?”

“Even Xiao Gui.” Xingjie confirms. He grins again at Yanjun’s undoubtedly dark face, then turns to smile knowingly at Nong. Nongnong smiles back. “Well, I’ll be off. Tell me right away if you need anything.” He sweeps out the cafeteria, snatching a box of soy milk on the way.

As soon as the doors clang shut, Linong stands up, bowl and spoon in hand, “I’m gonna get going too.”

“What?” Zhangjing tugs on his shirt, “Don’t run away from us!”

Linong laughs, “No, Zhangjing-ge. I promised Wenjun I’d protect him today when he went to the marketplace. Mubo and Fen are running out of a lot of stuff from treating so many people, and Wenjun didn’t want them to be depleted completely before going to get more. It’ll be fast. Then, we can get going on this mission when I’m back.”

Yanjun grunts, “Go then, kid.”

Nongnong smiles, bending down, “And, don’t worry. I’ll be more open with how I’m feeling from now on.” He glances at Yanjun again, “But you guys should too.”

“We are!” Zhangjing says defensively. Nongnong laughs.

“I’ll get going. See you in a bit!” He hugs Zhangjing with one hand, still laughing. Then, he brushes Yanjun’s neck as he passes. His skin burns where his fingers grazed his skin.

As he neatly places his dishes into the long sink at the end of the room and pushes open the door, Zhangjing turns to Yanjun.

“You think he’s gonna be fine, right?” Zhangjing looks worried still. Yanjun, lump in throat, can only reach out and pat those hairs at the back of his neck down with his bruised knuckles.

“Yeah.” He manages, “Nongnong always does something if we really mean it.” He tries to look away, but Zhangjing catches him by the face, touching his cheek.

“Hey, you okay?” Zhangjing is concerned again, and fuck, his face shouldn’t be flaring up this much.

“Yeah, just worried, like you.” He shoots him a lopsided grin.

Zhangjing doesn’t look convinced, “But you were so uncomfortable! And you and Nongnong kept having those weird eye conversations today. What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong? Yanjun isn’t really sure anymore. There’s nothing wrong in the literal sense, really. But over the past few weeks, and especially in the past few days, more and more pieces seem to be falling into place in a puzzle he hadn’t wanted to solve in the first place. How broken he’d felt when Zhangjing was taken and hurt. How rationless he became when it came to punishing the people who had done him wrong. How bloodthirsty and sadistic he was when anyone touches Zhangjing. And recently, how stupidly hot and frankly pissed he got when someone loved Zhangjing up like they always had done. How he’d called Zhangjing ‘mine’ apparently even when he didn’t remember it, and how knowing Nongnong had looked at him and Zhangjing when talking about giving them some space. He hated it.

“I’m fine, I promise.” Yanjun smiles at him, wider this time, “I’m proud that you’re working with us again.”

“Yeah.” Zhangjing says softly. For some reason, he feels like the smile isn’t fooling him, “I am too.”

Yanjun is everything he hopes Zhangjing will never be. Zhangjing is sunshine and warm blankets and coconut rice and bright laughs. Yanjun is no one, just some cold guy who lies and sleeps with people just to kill them or take everything that matters to them from them, hiding behind the arrogant mask of Ba-ge just to hide how empty he always feels. Zhangjing is the best person in the entire damn world, he’s sure of that. He deserves the fairy tale he always talks about, the security of someone that could be his prince.

The lump in his throat seems too big now. And Yanjun wonders when he’d started feeling this way. If he’s always felt this way but just too afraid to face it, or if that sick, twisted part of him only revealed it when someone else took Zhangjing’s first time, his first kiss, away from him, and it wasn’t him.

He wonders when he’d started loving You Zhangjing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. but then again, this just means more angst lol
> 
> comments n kudos keep me alive ;)


	62. Xukun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> extremely short and overdue filler. but on the bright side, this hoe is done the uni app and sem 1 grind! i think ill be writing more, so stay tuned :)

Xukun is filing through the stack of papers on his desk when he hears the door open.

“What’s up.” he hums, eyes not straying from the page. A new mission prospect down south. Pretty simple assassination from a client who seems to overestimate how much the killing is actually worth. The number is tempting, but there doesn’t seem to be any reason to send someone on it when they’re so busy trying to-

“Xukun.” Zhengting’s voice gently wafts through the air. Xukun almost drops his papers.

His whips his head around, neck throbbing painfully for a second from how forceful he did it. Zhengting is standing there in the doorway, looking unsure whether or not he can be allowed in. Xukun almost forgets how to breath.

“Can I come in?” Zhengting asks carefully, stepping in a bit. This takes him by surprise, because Zhengting isn’t the sort of person who asks permission, especially if he’s asking Xukun for something. Bitterness wells up at the back of his throat, startling him enough to jerk out of it.

“Yeah.” he clears his throat, “Yeah, come in.”

Zhengting steps in and pulls the door shut behind him. His light brown hair is beginning to darken at the roots. Xukun swallows.

“What’s up? Do you need anything?” he says as casually as he can, turning back to the papers slightly in hopes that Zhengting won’t see how nervous he is. It’s no use though, he knows; Zhengting has always known him too well.

Zhengting glides across the floor and sits in the chair in front of his desk, putting his hands on the surface of the table. Xukun can see him in the top of his vision, his soft yellow sweater, sleeves rolled up to his forearms to show his bandaged knuckles and wrists. His chest twists.

“Xukun, I think we need to talk.” Zhengting says softly, “If you don’t want to, that’s alright, but I don’t think we should put this off any longer.”

Xukun gives a non-committal grunt. He can talk, yeah. He’s an agent, the leader of the Retributation. He can talk his way out of everything, no problem. It’s just Zhengting. It’s not like it’s anyone crazy or-

“Yeah.”

No! No! He can’t say shit! He mentally slaps himself as he puts down the pages once more, screaming at himself to think shit through before committing to something that he’s put off for admittedly way too long now.

But as he looks up and meets Zhengting’s eyes, all of that seems to melt away. 

This morning, when they had talked in the medical wing about the new plans and what to do after the break-in, Xukun was already blinded by Zhengting. There’s a dark bruise forming under one of his eyes, hands bandaged to complement that, split in the lip. But there’s also a look of quiet passion he can see in his brown eyes now, the one that makes his heart ache out of what he lost and what he’s losing right now. 

It’s enough to make him open his mouth and breath out, “I’m sorry Zhengting.”

Zhengting looks at him for a long moment, then smiles, “Don’t be.” They both know what he’s talking about.

“No, I have to. You said you wanted to talk, right?” when Zhengting looks at him unsurely, Xukun hurries on, “Well this has to do with what you wanna say, I think. I’m sorry I snapped at you last night. It wasn’t in my place to do so when you were just trying to make me feel better. Xingjie told me how out of place I was being-”

“Xukun.” Zhengting says again, softly. Xukun shuts up immediately, still transfixed with his voice, ears greedy for more. 

Zhengting looks into him like he’s searching inside of him, scouring his brain and heart for everything that Xukun holds near him, “Did you mean what you said yesterday?”

The way he’s holding his gaze makes it hard to lie to him. He doubts he could get away with it anyways.

“Kind of.” Xukun admits, then drops his gaze. He begins to trace some patterns on the wood, heart beating way too fast for this conversation, “I understand, Zhengting. I really do. I was angry for a long time, because I didn’t then. But I think I sort of do now.” He hums a little, then laughs, “that didn’t make a lot of sense, did it? I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” Zhengting says, still soft. “That’s what I needed to come talk to you about, actually.”

Xukun raises his head.

“I don’t know how much you already know, but I’ll try to run through it.” Zhengting says gently, “But it’s been months now since I’ve come back and I owe you an explanation.”

Xukun hummed.

“I…I’ve always had problems with my parents.” Zhengting says quietly, dropping his gaze to where Xukun was tracing patterns on the wood, “I’ve never really had a family. You know that.”

Yes, yes he did. Just, not any of the details.

When he says this, Zhengting flinches, “I-I’ll maybe tell you another time, when I’m more ready. For now, I’ll just say that even though I’ve never had a real family, I really, really wanted one.”

Xukun knows this too. Sometimes, after a night of making love to each other in the lonely training rooms, Zhengting would roll over to drape an arm over his chest, giggling and poking at Xukun’s nose, whispering about the house they’d have in the future, the pets, the kids. Xukun would even smile back.

“And when Justin, Zeren, and Quanzhe came, I really felt like I could have one, you know? They looked up to me, even back then. Hell, I know they loved me. And I loved them more than I ever thought was possible.” Zhengting looks into his eyes again, vulnerable now, “And when I knew that they had to leave, I couldn’t just let that go. I needed to keep them, because I wanted a family so badly.”

It’s all logical, it all makes sense, but some wounded, bruised part of Xukun still screams, angrier than ever, why couldn’t I have been that for you? Why couldn’t you tell me, why couldn’t you take me with you, why couldn’t you stay with me? 

Why wasn’t I family to you?

He nods, numb. Zhengting sees the stiffness that he moves and hurriedly speaks to cover it up, “It was never you, Xukun. You were never not enough for me. You were everything I wanted. Me leaving wasn’t because you weren’t good enough… but… I think it was because I wanted more. Something… that Justin and them could give me.”

Zhengting stop speaking then, bowing his head. Xukun stares at the waves of hair on his head, the slightly shaking bandaged hands, and doesn’t know what to think. He thinks that he should say something to reassure him, to tell him his side, to explain himself and plead him for closure. But it’s not the time; he should be glad enough that Zhengting’s told him this when they’ve damaged each other so much already.

So instead, he blurts out impulsively, “Do you want to go on a mission with me?”

Zhengting’s head whips up, confusion painted across his face, “What?”

Xukun feels himself colour hard and he grabs at the paper from before on his desk, “This thing. An assassination down south on some corporate rival. Hefty sum in return that we’ll need to set up the new base and get better equipment for the techies.” He pauses and licks his lips, nervousness and panic suddenly seeping into his veins, “I mean, you don’t have to. I-I just thought that this--”

“Xukun.” Zhengting’s voice cuts through his babbling, “Let’s do it. Is it for tomorrow?”

He nods, then says a little too quickly, “If you want to, of course.”

“I do.” Zhengting smiles warmly. A little unsure, but it’s there.

He clears his throat, “Well, perfect. Tomorrow then, when I get the details sorted out a bit better. Are you healed up enough?”

“Oh, Xukun.” Zhengting moves to stand up, hand already pulling the chair away from him. There’s a fond exasperation on his face, “When has something as small as bruised knuckles stopped me from going on a mission?”

Xukun laughs, his heart still heavy but beating faster than it has for months.. He leans back in his chair and grins up as genuinely as he can at Zhengting’s smiling face. They’ve gotten older; Zhengting has smile wrinkles around his eyes that only make him more endearing. 

And as he glides out the door, Xukun feels his heart catch in his throat one more time.

“Xukun?”

He hums in response.

“Thank you.” Zhengting doesn’t grin this time. Just a small smile that doesn’t quite reach the uncertainty in his eyes.

Xukun manages to smile back.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did say it was short
> 
> promise that things are gonna pick up more in the future. thank u for still sticking with idol producer :)


	63. Linong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> linong gets a long chapter. warning that this chapter does have a more graphic scene (not sex, but close to it)

Even if the regenerative tissue formula Mubo came up with was working pretty well for everyone, Linong couldn’t say that it didn’t cause any less stress for the people in the medical wing.

The reason being Mubo and Qin Fen’s argument over what goes in at what moment of the mixing and cooking and cooling, a mildly irritating banter that escalated to Mubo yelling and Qin Fen looking like he could snap at any second. So while Linong and Wenjun sat in the corner, finishing the mixture so that it wouldn’t go to waste, Ziyi and Yanchen and Ruibin and Yue Yue pretending to sleep, Mubo and Qin Fen had it out with each other, an argument that eventually ended with Mubo storming out of the centre and Qin Fen punching the wall in frustration. 

That was two days ago, and they still haven’t cleared it up apparently. 

It’s quite endearing, if not a little amusing, to see them both worked up over something so insignificant; Linong would think that they were teenagers with how petty their fighting got, if he didn’t remember how Qin Fen was a legend already when he first got to SM and how scary Mubo got when it came to performing surgery.

He tells this to Wenjun in the late afternoon, barely after dinner, already dressed in a [crisp pink suit and matching tie](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DhcSKDcXcAImbZ0.jpg). Wenjun is cutting a piece of some cool melon (though he doubts it’s actually edible) into paper thin slices, spreading them out on his right to let them dry.

“Have they always been like this?” he asks, when Linong is done complaining about their petty argument. 

He scoffs, inwardly surprised that he can bring himself to do it. In fact, there are a lot of things that he’s been doing recently, now that he’s more and more comfortable with Wenjun. Talking-- complaining, even-- is one of them. “Of course. You weren’t even there when we were all at SM and Qin Fen was an assassin with the rest of us. He was older than all of us by a lot, and was basically the golden boy of SM before he got injured and all that shit.”

“No, no.” Wenjun chastises, “Don’t just say, ‘and all that shit’. Tell me more about it.”

“Well.” He straightens a little on his stool, “Basically, Qin Fen was one of the best agents at SM when I first got there. This was years ago, even before Xukun joined us, and I think it was just Yanjun, Ziyi, Xingjie, and Yanchen then. And me, but I had just gotten there and that barely counted. Qin Fen was one of the best assassins; not clean or crazy smart about anything, but strong, and a hell of a good fighter. He was the one who taught Yanchen a lot of his better moves.”

Wenjun smiles at him, “Is that so? I wouldn’t expect that with how much he complains of his back and legs.”

“That’s the thing.” He drops his voice a little so that it won’t be heard. It’s not that he doesn’t want people knowing-- everyone knows why Qin Fen isn’t an agent anymore-- but he just doesn’t want Fen-ge to hear and feel bad all over again. “Qin Fen got dispatched on a solo mission that was a bit too out of his league. Requested backup but they didn’t send it until it was way too late. He almost lost his left leg entirely from how much blood he had lost, if not his life. And there was a tear in his back muscles from where some asshole had forced his body backwards.”

“Holy.” Wenjun stops cutting for a second and peers at him with his pretty, wide eyes, “How did he survive that if it was a delayed rescue?”

“He almost didn’t. The only reason he did was because the agent in charge of getting him back didn’t think to just kill him and take him out of his misery.” He smiles, “And Mubo.”

“Oh, did he patch him up?”

“More than that.” Linong laughs, “Mubo was the star pupil of the medical department at SM. Super clean facility apart from ours, a bunch of careful, nervous, gritty teenagers who I think all had some sort of fear of germs. You’d fit right in.” Wenjun smiles, and Linong continues on, “But anyways, when I got there, apparently the Mubo-Qin Fen fight had been going on for a while already. Qin Fen would show up and jab at him and flirt while Mubo would patch him up, the only one who didn’t swoon over him and instead just snapped back. Honestly, very cute. Everyone told me they were fucking when I got there, but just that they weren’t friends or anything.”

Wenjun tutted gently, “Don’t swear.”

“No.” he grinned happily at Wenjun’s exasperated face, “Now that you know me, you have to know all of me.”

Wenjun just rolls his eyes, “Keep explaining.”

“Hmm? Oh, right. So everyone said that they’d been hooking up, even through all the arguments they had. The biggest love-hate relationship. I thought that they’d stay as friends with benefits forever until Qin Fen had his accident.”

“Messed him up?” Wenjun looked at him sympathetically.

Linong paused. He had only seen Qin Fen once between him getting injured and him joining the medical department. They weren’t close back then, but Linong had gone once, just because Yanjun had asked him to go ask Fen if he was ever going to come back to training. He remembers seeing him there, sitting in his bed, dressed in the oddly striped pyjamas SM gave out, staring at the wall.

“He was really… numb, I think. I visited him once when he was in recovery, just to pass on a message from Yanjun-- we weren’t close back then-- but I never got around doing it.” he paused again, “Qin Fen was sitting in his bed, just staring at the wall when I got in. And remember, this is the guy who had a booming laugh for everyone and flirted with Mubo when he almost got his head split open. It was… out of character to say the least.”

“God.” Wenjun looks at him with his eyes wide.

Linong nods, “Yeah. He was like that for a little while. Even worse when he found out that his leg would never be the same and that he’d probably have chronic pain for the rest of his life. Some of the other agents were so happy when they found out that the golden boy was shot down, because everyone knew that if Fen-ge wasn’t able to go back into the scene, he was effectively useless to SM.”

“From what I’ve heard about Quanzhe’s predicament, SM doesn’t take too kindly to the ‘useless’.”

He hummed, “They don’t. Qin Fen probably would have gotten shot as soon as he found out he wouldn’t be able to fight like before, if Mubo didn’t step in.”

Wenjun raised his brows.

“Mubo was the one who stitched him up after he was rescued-- that’s the only reason he survived then; if it wasn’t Mubo doing the stitching he would have died-- but he was also the one who lied to SM about his recovery and forced Qin Fen to pick up medicine. He bought him some time, and screamed at him enough to learn how to bandage bullet wounds and shit.”

Wenjun shoves the slices of melon to a side, “Shoot.”

“Shoot is right.” he agreed, “SM lay off him for long enough so that he could pick up some medical skills working with Mubo, and at the end, when he had to tell them that he couldn’t be an agent again, they let him work in the medical department. Probably felt a little sentiment, him being the golden boy for a bit.”

To his side, Wenjun is leaning against the wall, staring at Linong with large eyes, “I can see why Qin Fen grew to love Mubo.”

“Yeah. I’m not clear on how exactly they got together, but I think it isn’t hard to imagine considering that Qin Fen literally got his life saved by Mubo time and time again. Now, they still argue over the pettiest shit like you saw before, but they’re so grossly in love it hurts.”

Wenjun hummed, straightening up again, “Now I know why Qin Fen could still fend off SM soldiers while he’s a medic and has aching legs.” He bends and rummages in a tray before coming back up with a small tube of turmeric coloured stuff he watched him make earlier in the week. “But now, I gotta patch you up.”

“Me?” Linong opens his mouth, surprised, “I’m not injured.”

“No, but you will be if I don’t smear some of this on you.” Wenjun sees his expression and raises an eyebrow, “What, you didn’t think I’d know that you were going on a mission? You’re literally wearing a suit, Nongnong. And if you dress up that cute, I know that you aren’t just going in to stab someone.”

For some reason, he feels himself flush from the comments, “Fair. Xukun wants me and Zhangjing to find a new base for the Retributation. You know, for back-up since that SM attack left everyone pretty frazzled.” He looks down at the pink sleeves of his suit, “We’ve decided on a place that Zhangjing found. But it’s almost always used as an event mansion and tonight won’t be an exception.”

Wenjun nods slowly, “Zhangjing? Is he going to be alright?”

Linong nods with him, “He will. He wants to get back in the game, you know. Yanjun is delighted, and I’m happy for him too. I just hope that working with us won’t be too much for him, since… well…” He didn’t need to describe what he was implying to Wenjun. He knew what Linong’s job was like, and why he was dressed so nice.

“That’s good.” Wenjun agrees with a soft smile, “But that just gives me more reason to put some of this stuff on you.” He opens the tube and squeezes a small amount between his fingers. “Let me put this around your waist and neck. It prevents shallow bruises. Won’t do much in terms of injury, but will spare you from any really bad hickeys or finger-bruised thighs.”

Linong stares at him, “What?”

Wenjun looks placidly back, already rubbing the stuff in his fingers, “I don’t want you bruised.”

“Okay.” something twitches in his chest, and he looks up, a little remorsefully, “I can’t though. They love how I bruise so easily. I mean,” he points to a few fading red marks on his neck, “they always make sure to leave some marks. Putting that on would just make them suck harder.”

“Oh.” A flicker of worry flashes across Wenjun’s eyes, so quick Linong would have never picked it up if he wasn’t trained in this kind of stuff. He quickly wipes his hand on the towel dangling from the medical cart, “That’s fine. I just… Okay. I’ll just patch you up a little when you get back. Good luck, by the way.” He smiles at him, almost sheepish. Linong feels his chest twinge.

“Yeah... I will. Thank you.”

Yanjun is standing outside the door, hands crossed above his chest, unimpressed as he stares at Linong. Zhangjing is peeking around the door, black hat pressed down on his head, but he seems to be smiling. Linong stands.

“I need to go now.”

Wenjun looks up from where he’s putting the tube back, “Okay.” Something shifts, and he smiles, soft and gentle, “Come back safe.”

Linong swallows, “I will.”

***

“Okay, Nong. You’re gonna go in before Yanjun and focus on finding the head of the place. Get him, and try to get some passcodes and details about the place, but if you can’t that’s fine. I can just find any passcodes to the doors or secret rooms with a scan. Yanjun will head in after you do and infuriatingly win over the group until he finds some of the more important people there and tells them one by one to meet him in private. Then, he’s gonna start getting the knives out.”

Linong nods slowly to Zhangjing’s plan. It’s just a normal mission, really. Even smaller and easier than the rest. The place isn’t guarded by SM or any other agent company. There aren’t going to be too many people at this event-- just enough so that Yanjun can enjoy killing most to all of them-- and he doesn’t have to pry out any national secrets. It’s just an enter, seduce, pry, then kill job. Nothing special, but it doesn’t make him less nervous.

A quick glance at Yanjun confirms his thoughts. Yanjun frowns, “But Zhangjing. That’s going to take a long time. Are you sure you’re going to be--”

Zhangjing waves a hand dismissively, though Linong can see his pupils quivering, “Don’t worry. I have the new van Xiao Gui designed for me. I’d be very, very surprised if they can get through a van that we intentionally designed to protect me. As well, if anything happens, we have the new emergency signals, right?” He taps behind his ear, prompting Linong to touch the new tiny loop behind on his earpiece. Zhangjing and Jeffrey had made them, distributed them to every member of the Retributation, telling them to pull it in emergencies for help. 

Yanjun reaches out and brushes behind Linong’s ear almost absentmindedly, still looking at Zhangjing, “But are you sure they’ll work--”

“Yanjun!” Zhangjing glares at him, and Linong can see Yanjun physically swallowing whatever he was going to say, even though his expression is saying that he isn’t assured.

Linong puts his arm on his, “Yanjun, Zhangjing is gonna be fine. We need to focus on the mission; the faster we get it over with the faster we can all get home safe.”

Zhangjing nods encouragingly, “Yes, and that’s especially important for you, Yanjun. Linong can’t kill the head of the place safely until you start causing some chaos. So get in there, start wiping them out-- it should be like ten people maximum not counting the guards-- and remember, these are some of the scummiest people in the country.”

Yanjun scoffs, standing up and pulling his [black turtleneck out of his white shirt and up his neck](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DmnqxbSVAAAjPvB.jpg), “Don’t worry about that part. I don’t feel any sympathy for people who run prostitution rings.”

Ironic, considering how that’s what they do for most of their job. Only difference is that they kill them in the end.

Zhangjing is straightening Linong’s tie, “You guys should get going. Stay in contact. Listen to me when I tell you to. Be quick and efficient, and don’t let them contact any help.”

Linong stands, wordlessly opening his arms. Zhangjing crowds into him, and Linong hugs him hard. He can feel the uncomfortable hitch of Zhangjing’s breath, but he knows better than to say anything that would set him off.

Yanjun looks at them darkly, a hard glint in his eyes from where he stands near the back of the van. When Zhangjing separates from him, Linong watches as he turns to face Yanjun.

Yanjun doesn’t make any move to touch him. He just looks at him hard, one hand already on the door, and opens his mouth, “Come back to me.”

Zhangjing stares at him impassively, and nods.

***

It’s nice, being on a mission with Yanjun again. Apart from that one late, late night excursion with him months ago where he split Hendery Huang’s skull open, Yanjun hasn’t been going on a lot of missions, staying at home with Zhangjing instead. Linong’s been going on his own missions, which are fine-- he can handle them fine when it’s a simple assassination--, but the bigger ones like this one are far more efficient and fun with his partner having his back. It’s even better hearing Zhangjing’s flustered voice in one of his ears, not hollow but angry or worried or simply exasperated.

“Nongnong, try to go upstairs. He might be in the upper lounge, and you can take a look at the premises in the process. Maybe choose a room for us when we move in here.” Linong grins, and from across the room, he can see Yanjun raise an eyebrow at him. 

“What are you smiling about?” a woman from the group he’s conversing with asks, smiling back, “Do you find talk about our business amusing?”

Linong shakes his head, smiling as innocently and brightly as he can, letting his eyes curve into slits, “No. I just remembered something I found amusing.” From the way she grins back, eyes soft, he knows that he’ll be fine. “Thank you for talking with me, but I think I’m going to look around and maybe get a drink.” The women bid him good-bye, one noticeably blushing, and Linong turns and skirts through the circular area until he reaches a spiral staircase.

He pauses. Justin and Chengcheng would love the curved design of the place. Yanchen would probably love it as well. He backtracked. Maybe just Yanchen for now. 

Climbing the stairs, he realized looking down how little people were at this event. Apart from the ten or so obvious guests, the rest of the people below loitering around and drinking were probably just ordinary mobsters or workers. Yanjun wouldn’t have a hard time at all. 

“Nong, best smiles on. The guy has two prostitutes on him right now, but it’s fine. You’re cuter. You just have to get him good.”

Linong immediately puts on his best, prettiest smile as he mounts the upper level. There’s even less people here, but it doesn’t matter because there are three men eyeing him from their spots on the armchairs and couches as soon as he steps foot onto the plush carpet. 

The one in the middle he recognizes as his target. A middle aged man with a sharp jawline and greying, slicked back hair. His eyes are cold when Linong fixes his gaze on him, piercing and scrutinizing. Linong only holds his gaze for a second, taking notice of the girl and boy sitting on either side of him, both dressed scandalously and undoubtedly some of his prostitutes. Then, he breaks the gaze and almost casually struts over to the drink table, taking a dry martini like that was his only intention in coming upstairs.

“Put on a show. He’s watching you.” Zhangjing hisses.

Linong turns when he takes the glass, and, too casually, leans a little against the table, hand coming up to loosen his tie a little. He brings the glass to his lips, looking darkly at the men over the rim as he drinks.

He can tell he’s getting a rise out of them, with the way they can’t take his eyes off him. He looks good, he knows that, better than any of the prostitutes they’re with right now; everyone tells him that pink is his colour.

Too good apparently. One of the men-- not his target-- rises from his chair, pushing the girl all over him to a side. He walks quickly to Linong, black hair falling over his angular face and smirking. 

Linong sighs internally. Zhangjing hisses in his ear, “No! Not that one!”

“Hey cutie.” The guy sidles up with him and takes another martini from the table, “Who are you?”

He stares at him, eyes wide, trying to make it seem like he’s in awe of this handsome, powerful man. Thinking of Zhangjing’s rising irritation on the other side of the line, he shifts slightly to the side so that he’s still facing the guy but more in view of his target.

“Jiang Jingzuo.” Yanjun was going as Li Ruotian today. He explains that he’s a new businessman, invited to this event by a mutual Zhangjing found, hoping to make some new connections.

“Oh, you’ll make some connections alright.” the man laughs, and Linong wills himself to blush. Out of the corner of his eye, he can tell that while the other man has refocused himself to the boy on his lap, his target is still looking at him with hard eyes. He smiles.

“What?” He shifts even more so that he can cock his hip out a little, “Do you want to connect with me?” Then he blushes like he can’t believe what he just said.

“Bingo. That got the target’s attention. Your ass doesn’t lie.” Zhangjing mutters again. Just as he says, his target is up now, straightening his black tie, looking with purpose at his hips. 

The man in front of him follows his gaze and when they land on the other man, they darken. He puts a hand around Linong’s hips, drawing him near to him ever so subtly.

His target doens’t seem fazed, only continuing to approach them. He wills himself smaller, eyes widening so that he can pull the innocent look off better.

“Dahe, you don’t want to share?” he says to the man holding him close.

Dahe seems taken aback, and Linong is as well. He expected the guy to fight for him, not to propose… whatever he’s proposing.

Dahe’s eyes flickers onto Linong, and he makes himself blush profusely, dropping his gaze to his crotch.

“You want to share?” Dahe asks, drawing Linong closer to him yet again.

“Mhm.” His target hums, putting a hand on Linong’s shoulder, “Would you be willing?” He directs the question to Linong. Dahe’s face darkens; he must be less powerful if he’s not raising any vocal objections.

“I-If you want.” Linong keeps his face red, turning so that he’s facing him as well and raising his head a little.

He’s taken two at once before. It would make the job easier for Yanjun too. They must not be incredibly trained either if Zhangjing isn’t hissing in his ear to shut up.

“Perfect.” The target practically purrs, “Dahe, let’s bring him to a room.”

The walk there is convenient, to say the least. Linong gets a view of all the rooms down the hall, and he can tell why Zhangjing chose this spot for SM. It’s spacey with a lot of rooms, but not spread out. Good for a backup base or hideout. 

The room at the end isn’t a small room like the rest of them though. As soon as he’s pulled into the spacious master bedroom, he’s thrown onto the huge king-size bed and is immediately climbed on when the door is locked behind them. 

The Dahe guy kisses him then, filthy and hot, though all Linong can think about is how nice of a meeting room this room would make. They wouldn’t need to use their living room as the meeting room then, and could devote this space just for the office and mission preparation space.

At the same time, his target sidles up on his other side and begins to press warm, wet kisses along his jaw and neck. He whines, smiling when he hears both men groan.

This is what he’s good at. Getting a rise out of people with his body. Manipulating people so that they’ll do what he wants them to do.

He thinsk about this when they fuck him, fast and hard and deep. Linong belatedly remembers that he was supposed to get some codes out of them, but brushes it off because he doubts he’d get anything when there are two guys trying to make him moan. 

It’s lucky he’s got good stamina and that he’s spent years doing this. He doubts his body would have been able to take what ruthless, powerful men like the ones on top of him are giving him. Somewhere, dazedly, he hopes Yanjun will hurry up; it’s getting a little tiring with how hard they’re going at him.

Then, he hears it. A shrill shriek that rings out through the air when one of the men is fucking into him and the other is under him and gripping his ass. He hears it, senses it, before the men do, and that’s all he needs. 

Quick as a whip, he grabs to the side, where he slipped a thin blade in the cracks of the mattress when he got thrown into the room. Without taking his off his target under him, he stabs behind him and hears Dahe’s yell as the blade sinks into his hip. 

Linong kicks him out of him then, yanking out the knife and turning to stab him again in the other leg. Dahe’s hisses in pain and grabs at Linong’s knife arm. Behind him, he can hear the target scrabbling around on the bedside table for a gun, and he twists quickly, stabbing his forearm. 

His target screams, and Linong takes the moment to slit his throat. Zhangjing was right. They’re less trained than he thought. Not from an agency for sure. Just some mobster that thinks he can do better than an ace from one of the most feared underground mafia groups in the world.

Dahe is still grabbing at him, and his strength combined with the force he cut his target’s throat with knocks the knife out of Linong’s hand. He towers over him then, trying to pin Linong’s wrists down, roaring for back up. 

Linong tries to kick up, aim for his crotch, but Dahe dodges it. He manages to press down on Linong’s throat, trying to cut his air off.

Linong sighs internally. He really didn’t want to have to resort to this.

Reaching up, quick as a whip, he sinks his teeth into Dahe’s throat, hearing the man’s roar of pain as blood gushes around his mouth. He yanks his teeth back, blood spurting everywhere, and as Dahe’s hands go up to his throat, entire body shaking in agony, he reaches up and yanks his head to the side so sharply, he can hear the crack as Dahe’s thrown to the side.

He stops then, panting and naked, raised halfway on the bed, as Dahe groans weakly, neck broken and spurting blood from where Linong’s ripped his throat out. The original target is already dead, eyes open from his spot on the bed beside him. 

Outside, people are screaming and yelling as Yanjun tears into them. Linong closes his eyes and spits the man’s blood out his mouth, though the taste is still on his tongue, metallic and bitter. He’s still naked, his heart beating in tune to the screams outside and the gasping of the dying man in front of him.

Wenjun was right. He is bruised. Just not in the way he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did say it was long. linong is such a loveable character
> 
> ty for sticking w the fic. comments n kudos keep me going <3


	64. Zhengting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, this chapter sucks and is a filler for greater things. read with caution; it will definitely be rewritten lol

It was like old times: Zhengting driving the car through the dusty desert road and Xukun leaning back in the passenger seat beside him. The sun beat through the windows on his arm, thin fabric the only thing preventing him from a burn. Nonetheless, Zhengting kept his eyes glued on the road in front of them.

Xukun sighed once, reclining in the soft leather seats. He glanced almost lazily at Zhengting, heavy-lidded eyes sweeping over him. Zhengting flushed, then cleared his throat loudly.

“Four hours more on the road.” He paused, but when Xukun made no remark, he continued, “I wonder why this guy wanted his business headquarters in the tiniest town. Wouldn’t it be smarter to have your business in the city?”

Xukun grunted, “Same reason why our base isn’t in the middle of the city: you can get away with too little and be attacked too easily.” He uncapped a bottle of water and took a sip, “Even though that means that you’ll be cut off from a lot of the metropolitan life.”

“I suppose that some things can be sacrificed to keep you alive.”

Xukun grinned, “Shame that they’re gonna die anyways.”

Zhengting laughed, then coughed, the heat above drying the back of his throat and splitting his lips. Almost impulsively, it seemed, Xukun reached across and held the bottle to his mouth. He hesitated a moment, but eventually opened his mouth and let him pour the water in.

The water is cool on his tongue, and he drinks it gratefully, aware that Xukun is watching his every move. It’s slightly disconcerting, the intensity with which he looks at him, but it’s a start. Ever since Xukun asked him to accompany him on this mission two days ago, Zhengting has been trying to hold up his end of the deal, working with him to plan out the location, their weapons, their plan, et cetera. Xukun does the same in return, working together with him in reasonable serenity. It reminded Zhengting of why they were chosen as a duo in the first place: there’s no one else that quite understands him and fits with him than Xukun.

It’s an unspoken promise too, to gradually try to mend what happened between them. At least, that’s what Zhengting’s intent is. He hopes that Xukun wants it as well.

Xukun is still looking at him intensely, even as Zhengting closes his mouth as an indication that he’s finished drinking. He flushes; Xukun only looks like that when they’re about to sleep with each other.

“Quit staring at me.” He mutters, flushing, “You look like you’re stripping me with your eyes.”

Xukun turns back to the road, wearing an expression of disbelief, “I’ve seen everything anyways, don’t worry.”

Zhengting tries to glare at him out the corner of his eye, “Shut the fuck up.”

“It’s true.” When Zhengting opens his mouth to retort, Xukun grins widely, “Don’t be like that. C’mon. Let’s run over the mission plan again.”

Zhengting wants to retort something but seeing as they have a couple hours to go, he might as well give in, “It’s just a standard mission, Kun. Go assassinate a business rival on the top floor of a huge, overpriced building. Don’t get caught. What else is there?”

“Hey, we’re going on this mission for a reason.” he narrowed his eyes at him, “We wouldn’t go if it was just money. This guy apparently has ties to Byun Baekhyun and Park Chanyeol somehow. It wouldn’t hurt to snoop around a little bit.”

“We’re not gonna be able to do some investigation search. The best we can do is rob the laptops we see and take it back to Xiao Gui and the others.”

“Then we’ll do that. How many do you think you can carry?”

“I’ll be able to--”

“Nevermind, don’t answer that. I’m gonna be the one lugging them around while you kick ass anyways.”

“Fuck you--”

“You do.” Xukun grinned widely again, making Zhengting roll his eyes in exasperation.

“I don’t remember you being this smart-mouthed.”

“Yeah, well. It’s been a while, and we weren’t exactly on speaking terms until two days ago.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Mhm.”

A moment of silence.

“Tell me how you got that scar on your belly. I don’t remember it being there a couple years ago.” Xukun leaned forward, making Zhengting scoff. He knew him too well to know when he was trying to pretend like he didn’t really care.

“Nothing special, honestly. I went on a mission with Quanzhe and got cut up a bit.”

“Oh? The Ace Zhu Zhengting getting cut up on a mission? With Li Quanzhe no less?”

“Don’t remind me about it. It honestly wasn’t even that deep, but we didn’t have any of this fancy tissue regeneration stuff Mubo and Qin Fen are cooking up now. I wasn’t upset or anything, even though Quanzhe was.” He laughed at the memory, “Sometimes, I think Quanzhe is the most messed up out of all of us. He literally ripped the guy who cut me apart, I’m talking arms and legs cut off and everything. In the end, I felt more sorry for that guy instead of myself.”

Xukun frowned, eyebrow twitching, “Even though you have a scar now.”

“You don’t like it?” he retorted, raising an eyebrow.

Xukun put both of his hands up, like he was defending against an attack, “No, no. I was just thinking of Quanzhe being scary, that’s all.”

“You haven’t seen him go psychopathic. He’s the hardest one to control, honestly, now that Justin… well, even then, he was. I had to hold him back so many times because of how bloodthirsty he can be.” He shot a wry smile beside him, “I made Zeren take him in the end. He’s the only one who can be scary and rough enough to control him sometimes. I get too emotional about him, and he feels bad about it afterwards. Zeren keeps him on a leash during missions.”

“Huh.” Xukun looked out the window again, giving Zhengting a nice view of his blond hair, black peeking out at the roots.

“You never told me why you dyed your hair.”

He reached over and ran his fingers through his blond locks. Xukun stiffened for a moment, but gradually relaxed again. “It wasn’t anything special. I wanted a change after leaving SM, and Yanchen thought that bleaching my hair would be the best plan. He says that I look ugly as hell though.”

“You’re not too bad on the eyes.”

“You think?” Xukun spun around abruptly, eyes twinkling. Despite his exasperation, Zhengting smiled back.

“Shut up.”

Xukun turned around again, suddenly stiff and quiet once more, and Zhengting sighed. Cai Xukun, always so fucking hard to read.

***

Turns out, they do work the best together. Breaking into the building was easy, the guards almost too simple to kill. Zhengting had to remind himself that he was with Xukun again-- they were the two aces of SM Agency-- and shake himself hard a couple times in between to realize why they were having such a good time.

Xukun really does fit right into him. Where Zhengting lashes out, Xukun is there to stabilize him. Where Xukun is all firepower, Zhengting can harness it. Where Xukun is rough edges and hard fists, Zhengting is soft deadliness and spinning kicks. The guards don’t hold up at all, the only reason they’re spared is when Zhengting opts for a more stealthy approach to the right floor rather than just fighting like Xukun proposes.

But it doesn’t really matter. Zhengting is standing above the three men he just killed, throats slit clean to the bone, arms drenched up to the elbows in fresh blood. Xukun isn’t doing much better, slicking off his gloves and wringing them on the bodies of the bodyguards. 

“That was… much easier than I expected.” He muttered, closing the eyes of his target.

Xukun yanked the laptops and various devices out of where they were sitting on the table, “I think they’re main point of defense was actually finding this place in the middle of nowhere.” He smiled a tight, close-lipped smile at him, “Maybe they underestimate Jeffrey’s skills at tracking this place.”

“They definitely did.” Zhengting took the smaller devices Xukun was handing to him and tucked them in his vest, “We’re gonna have to stealth back down to the car. We’re not gonna fight well with these things weighing us down.”

Xukun grunted, wincing a little as he put weight on his slightly twisted ankle. Before he could stop himself, Zhengting rushed forward, slipping under Xukun’s arm and supporting him.

Xukun raised his eyebrows at him but to his relief, said nothing. Perhaps he knows him too well, knows that Zhengting can’t help but rush forward and do what they’ve always done, too eager to patch things up. It’s what Zhengting’s good at, patching things up, saving the broken things: even if he’s never mended something completely.

Xukun grunted again as Zhengting readjusted his position, warm breath fanning over his neck. Zhengting shivers, knowing that Xukun is smirking.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Xukun hums, allowing Zhengting to carry him out of the building and back onto the car.

***

Zhengting wanted to collapse into his bed when he got back to the base, the time well past midnight, the only ones still active perhaps Nongnong and Yanjun and Zhangjing working on their own mission. He was reasonable though, half-guiding, half-following Xukun to dump the devices they found in the tech center with a brief note of what they are, then convincing him to go to the hospital wing to get his ankle checked up. Xukun scoffed when he said that, but he suspected that he too was too tired to argue against it.

The hospital wing is dark too when they enter it, a pale sliver of light against the wall opposite to the window from the moon outside. There are still many sleeping in the beds along the walls, all recovering from the SM attack. Zhengting bit the inside of his cheek at the thought.

They passed Yanchen snoring in his cot, then Ziyi silently breathing into his pillow. Beside his table, there’s a plate of peeled apples that Zhengting suspected was Jeffrey’s doing.

Finally, at a free bed, he set him down.

He reached into the basket beside the bed and brought out the bandages and various ointments Wenjun said was good for sprains.

Xukun looked like he wanted to protest when Zhengting shucked off his boot and socks, but stayed quiet for the sake of the sleeping people around them. Quickly, without a word, he applied the ointments to his ankle and wrapped it tightly with white bandages.

“You’re pretty good at this.” Xukun’s voice was light when Zhengting was fastening the bandage with a pin, “Maybe you should stay back and just be a medic.”

“Fool.” Zhengting breathed back, rolling his eyes even if Xukun can’t see them, “There are way too many people better at this than me.”

Xukun must have been grinning, because he didn’t say anything more. Zhengting finished up his ankle and replaced the ointments and bandages in the table beside them. He waited as Xukun stood.

Xukun turned so that the moon was shining onto his face. He looked at Zhengting for a long moment, until Zhengting felt his chest constrict and he had to shove him in the chest, “Go sleep. We had a long day.”

He nodded, already heading towards the door. But at the last second, he paused, hands trailing on Zhengting’s arm. 

“Thank you, Zheng Zheng. We… we still work the best together.”

He feels his heart twist, then unfurl, then lighten at the sound of the nickname. The sound of it escaping Xukun’s lips is like a glimpse back to the past, to the future, to something better.

“No problem. You love working with me. It’s hard to resist, I know.”

Xukun smiles knowingly, teeth glinting in the moonlight, “I know too.”

Then, he’s gone.

Zhengting holds himself for a long moment, exhaustion clouding his mind and something else twisting in his chest. Then, he gives in, sinking into the hospital bed, letting out a long sigh.

He lies there for another moment, trying to process the mission they went on today, though it’s pointless; he’s too tired, and his heart is beating too fast. Xukun always seems to cause this effect in him, and the nickname, nor the fresh opportunity to fight with him isn’t doing much to prevent it.

However, he doesn’t need to sort it out for much longer.

A long shadow appears on the wall, making Zhengting smile as he approaches him. Wenjun’s figure is unmistakable to him, long and lithe and straight.

He appears in his vision, dark, and Zhengting sits up, already scolding.

“What are you doing this late?”

Wenjun sighs, sitting down beside him. Zhengting naturally sinks to his side, hearing his sharp inhale.

“I got used to staying up late for Nongnong. It’s a little strange now, now that he’s gone back to Yanjun and Zhangjing.” Another sigh.

Zhengting hums. Wenjun had told him of his nightly excursions with the boy when he demanded why he was on the rooftop with Linong before the invasion by SM. He had learned of how Wenjun was getting him to sleep, and the quiet affection he had for the boy. 

“You can sleep now though. You work so hard, you need to sleep too.” He said softly. Wenjun shook his head.

“I… I kind of miss it, I guess. Linong is great. He’s quiet, but he’s very… unique.” His voice trails off, Zhengting shifts.

“I suppose.” He opens his mouth, about to tell him maybe of the mission today or scold him again for not sleeping, but Wenjun is up in a second, kneeling in front of him, an unmistakable serious expression on his face.

“I need to tell you something.” The intensity in his eyes shines under the light.

“Oh?” He shifts again so that he’s facing him straight on, smiling softly, “What is it?”

Wenjun takes a long breath, eyes softening, then hardening. They shift into something that Zhengting recognizes as resignation, as sadness, and he stiffens.

“What?” 

There's another long moment before Wenjun looks into his eyes again.

“It’s about Justin.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah it sucks im sorry
> 
> love yall tho


	65. Yanchen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> took ten years but yanren fluffy. sorry it's so short tho! been stressed :<

The air is too heavy, it seems, when he’s been cramped in the medical wing for more than a couple of days. It smells of sharp, bitter antibiotics mixed with some undercurrent of metallic blood, and though there are windows, the glass is at least two inches thick and in Yanchen’s opinion, that doesn’t count.

He should maybe be a little more grateful, now that some of the people injured have healed enough to go back to their dorms. No one enjoys being in the medical wing too long-- except for the medics and (he suspects) Nongnong, of course--, all too eager to get back into action, running and shooting. Yanchen is no different. He’s healing fast, considering that he had actual bullets in his leg that in any other circumstance would have probably paralyzed him for life, but Mubo and Qin Fen’s tissue regeneration therapy worked well, and he had to thank them for that. However, no matter how thankful he is, he can’t manage to thank them enough so that Mubo will let him out. Every time he professes his dying love for him or Qin Fen or Wenjun, they just look at him with a stern sort of look and leave him without unplugging him or unhooking him from whatever tubes and IVs are under his skin.

So yeah, he’s bored and frustrated out of his mind. Everyone seems to be getting up and going back to work, even busier now that they have a new plan for their retaliation against SM. Yanjun and Nong and Zhangjing have their own side mission as well, as do Xukun and Zhengting. It just seems like he’s one of the only ones still healing, cooped up in a bed with his leg and waist strapped in, forced to read or go over documents in his free time.

Of course, there are still some who are still healing. Ziyi, for instance, is nowhere close to having recovered completely from the deep wound and surgery. He’s more patient though, actually getting paperwork done and reading books that Xinchun recommends him. Yanchen doesn’t admire him for that: Ziyi is always so patient and quiet anyways, it’s barely a change for him. 

He has been a little off-put though, in the last bit. It’s not like he’s changed too much; Yanchen annoys him every day and he still responds with the same, patient voice and dry humour. He acts the same around basically everyone else too, and Yanchen wouldn’t think anything was wrong if it weren’t for Jeffrey.

Though he doesn’t recall Ziyi and Jeffrey ever being particularly close, at least, not in the way Ziyi was close to himself or Xukun, they  _ had _ been hanging out a bit more recently. A strange turn of events, considering that he had never seen the two speak a word to each other back at SM. Ziyi stuck close with their little dorm group, and Jeffrey had stuck with the techies. They had been getting closer though, he knew, meeting up with each other after missions to work out or cook. 

But he hadn’t been coming recently to have fun, either not showing up at all or coming only to visit all of them together. He didn’t really talk to Ziyi specifically, and if Yanchen didn’t know Ziyi so well, he wouldn’t have been able to see the slight change in his demeanor. 

He sighed, glancing over at him. Ziyi was sleeping peacefully in the bed beside him, face pale under the dim moonlight. His form was long and straight, stomach facing upwards so that his wound wouldn’t be stressed anymore. In sleep, he looked calm, innocent. Like he wasn’t the second-in-command of an assassinatio group. Ziyi always gave off those kinds of vibes.

Yanchen himself certainly did not. The feeling of boredom was back, creeping along under his skin like some creature. He shifted uncomfortably, aching to climb out of bed and silently cursing Mubo for being smart enough to strap him into the bed. He had been healing for a week now; it may have been the longest time he had ever been trapped in one place.

Glumly, he stops moving around when he feels the stitches on his legs strain. If he tore them, Mubo would have his head, and he wouldn’t always be able to rely on Qin Fen or Wenjun to patch him up before he noticed. He would just have to stay in bed for a bit longer.

At least, he thinks, he has people to keep him company. Zhengting is as fun as always, always remembering to drop by with his kids. He missed the pouty, sensitive Zhengting that was easy to banter with. Quanzhe was often really great to jab at as well, even more so if Xinchun could accompany him with Dinghao trailing behind him with stars in his eyes. Then, even if he wasn’t someone to debate against or laugh with recently, there was Chengcheng, though he was always in the hospital wing anyways. Yanchen would talk to him and coax the occasional comment from him, getting Wenjun to wheel his bed over beside Justin’s and playing with Justin’s hair. He had been in a coma for over a month now, face white and hair stringy, and though he was worried like the rest of them, he refused to dwell on the possibility that he wouldn’t wake up. It was Justin, the little blond boy he had watched grow up. He would wake up.

This was another thing Yanchen took upon himself now that he was bedridden. Reminding everyone that Justin wasn’t gone and keeping everyone’s spirits up after the attack had fallen on him, especially since his boyfriend was snappish and more emotional than he would admit.

_ Boyfriend _ . Yanchen smiled in the dark, feeling warmth bloom to the tips of his fingers. That was the benefit that came out of taking those bullets in the legs. Before that night, he hadn’t really been sure of what he felt towards Zeren. Perhaps he was trying to force his attraction into more brotherly feelings, the memory of child Zeren still too fresh. But he was just so snarky, aggressive, funny, giggly, and  _ Zeren _ that he doubted he would have been able to hold his feelings off for any longer. Caught in the rush of the fight and seeing Zeren’s bright eyes and sweaty golden skin had practically invited him to kiss him.

Then confessing to him. Yanchen had hooked up and dated throughout his life-- random men and women in clubs who didn’t know who he was or what he did--, more than he ever thought he would as an agent. He had gotten pretty used to talking people up and confessing attraction in order to get himself a date. But this time, with his leg throbbing with blood in the hospital bed, the memory of how Zeren had dropped Park Chanyeol to the group without hesitation to get Yanchen back, Yanchen felt actually alive when doing it. It was like all the mist in his life had cleared away, letting him see Zeren as he actually was for the first time, all raw and emotional and gorgeous.

And the kiss too. His entire body burned with the memory of the feeling of his mouth on his. Zeren’s first kiss. His mouth had tasted salty from his sweat, but at the same time, so spicy and hot; it was everything that reminded him of Zeren. He had proved himself to be the cutest boyfriend too, keeping him company and bantering with him for most of the day. And kissing. Yanchen adored him.

As if on cue, Yanchen heard the door to the medical wing slide open.

A dark figure padded in, and Yanchen smiled when he watched the shadow approach him. The small form got closer and closer, before Zeren’s face was peering over his, anxiously checking if he was asleep or not.

Zeren frowned when he saw the glint of Yanchen’s open eyes. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.” 

“I don’t see you sleeping.” He retorted back, hands already going up to trace Zeren’s face with his fingers. His skin was hot under his skin.

Zeren slapped his hands away, “I came to check for precisely this situation.” He frowned again. “Guess I was right.”

Yanchen whined, “Zeren! I’m bored though! I can’t sleep when I’m this bored.” His hands went up again, this time gripping Zeren’s hip.

Zeren tried to twist away, but Yanchen held on this time, “Yanchen!”

“What?”

Even though it was dark, he knew that Zeren’s face must have flushed deep red like he always did when Yanchen got a little more touchy with him. “It’s the middle of the night?” He said, voice a little dazedly.

“Doesn’t prevent me from kissing my cute boyfriend.” And with that, he was bringing Zeren down on top of him and kissing him hard on the mouth.

Zeren squeaked, trying to adjust himself so that he was straddling Yanchen without pressing onto his bad leg. His mouth was hot as usual, tasting like mint toothpaste. The cold of the mint mixed with the heat of Zeren himself, making Yanchen’s heart race. He grabbed Zeren’s hand and, cheesily, pressed it to his own chest.

“You make me go crazy.” He whisper-declared dramatically. “See how fast you’re making my heart beat.”

Zeren seemed to be at a loss of words, but from the way his skin got even warmer, Yanchen thought that he deserved a small grin for himself. He took the opportunity to raise himself a bit and tip Zeren’s head back, leaning forward to fix his mouth onto his neck.

Zeren squeaked again, but though Yanchen was expecting a hit or push or squeal, he didn’t make any moves to dislodge himself from Yanchen’s lap. Instead, he let his own hands wander along Yanchen’s legs and hips, eventually resting just under his chest. Yanchen kissed his neck harder, hearing Zeren’s breath sharply, and letting his own hands rest more firmly at Zeren’s hips.

His own heart was racing, his skin and entire being burning pleasantly. The fire in him only got hotter when Zeren gasped lightly when he grazed his teeth over a dip in his neck under his jaw. Zeren squirmed a little in his lap, sending a bolt of hear through his body. Yanchen had to stop then, groaning into his neck and burying his face in Zeren’s chest.

“W-what?” Zeren gasped above him. He squirmed again. For his own sanity, Yanchen grasped his hips tighter.

“You’ve got to stop moving if you don’t want me popping a boner right here right now.” He groaned into his neck.

Zeren stilled a little. His skin raised a couple of degrees. Yanchen felt his own stomach tighten pleasantly. “Okay.” 

Yanchen smiled into the skin of his neck, “Is that your goal?”

“No!” Zeren exclaimed quickly back. Yanchen resumed kissing his neck. “I just haven’t done this before. I’m surprised, that’s all.”

There it was. Yanchen pulled back, hands still on Zeren’s hips, mouth unconsciously curving up. He could see Zeren’s eyes, a little insecure, a little glossy, a little heated, and smiled even wider. “I know, baby. I won’t rush you.” He leaned forward and kissed him again, softer, more chaste. “You take all the time you need. I adore you no matter what we do.”

He could hear Zeren’s breath hitch ever so slightly again. Zeren’s eyes were shining, and if Yanchen felt his face, he would be able to dip his fingers into the deep dimples pooling by his lips. He didn’t say anything more, just looked at him with all the fire and adoration that was Ding Zeren, before pressing in close and kissing him again. Yanchen moved his hands up even further so that they rested on the hot skin slightly under his shirt and at his waist. He didn’t dare to move him any further, because Zeren was moving on top of his lap again, and he really didn’t want to do anything he would regret later on.

But with the way Zeren was kissing him, sloppy, unskilled, hot, but all too eager, he didn’t really need anything else. 

He didn’t get too much sleep that night in the end.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come ask some questions [here](https://curiouscat.me/instantramyun), or leave a comment!  
> im so thankful to all of u for sticking w me for so long! more angst is coming, but im glad i have yall to go through it w me :3


	66. Chengcheng

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beware: kind of sucky writing

Fan Chengcheng groaned in pain. 

His left calf was throbbing, an eerie warmth trickling down his leg and into his boot. There was a sharp, metallic tang in the air, a scent so thick and disorienting that Chengcheng wanted to keel over. He wanted to cover his mouth and remove some of the pressure on his bad leg, maybe relax his shoulder a bit so that it would stop screaming in pain, but he couldn’t.

He was frozen still, unable to blink, arms outstretched. Looking side to side, he recognized the grey bedspread just beside him, the grated windows high above the ground. His room at JYP. Slowly, he looked down. 

There was a clump of blond hair in his arms, splattered with patches of browning red. A boy, and even though Chengcheng himself couldn’t move, he was. 

The boy in his arms was panting, shaking slightly. He clutched at Chengcheng’s arms, hands slipping with scarlet liquid. He scrambled, he slipped, he groaned.

Chengcheng stared as the boy slowly raised his head, blood pouring down one eye from a deep cut on his forehead. He looked familiar somehow.

The boy stared into Chengcheng’s eyes, the brown glinting with tiredness at first, before it was suddenly replaced with hot anger.

“Fan Chengcheng!” he growled, “Fan Chengcheng!”

He couldn’t move; Chengcheng was just a statue holding him. The boy collapsed into him, sending him toppling back, though he never seemed to reach the floor. Chengcheng fell, the boy still clutching onto him, his fingers and arms and legs and stomach melting into red and orange and yellow. He looked up at his face, only to find his features distorting upon themselves, sinking into itself as his mouth twisted in a scream of fury…

Chengcheng woke with a start, his entire back clammy and cold with sweat. He took a few moments to calm himself, letting his eyes register to the dark, though the feeling of his heartbeat was hot under his chest. 

As he lay there, trying to stop the rapid beating of his heart, he became aware of a heavy force against his side. He looked down, saw light brown hair pressing into his chest, still damp from a shower, and remembered that Zhengting had crawled into his bed.

It was lucky that Zhengting wasn’t too light of a sleeper. From the tangle of the blankets covering the both of them, Chengcheng guessed that he had been squirming from his nightmare. Zhengting was still holding onto him though, arms wrapped tightly around his waist and head pressed into his chest. He could almost forget for a moment that he was the man who took him under his wing after he was abandoned by JYP.

Then again, perhaps it was normal. Zhengting had gone on a mission that day, which by all means was already tiring enough. However, Chengcheng knew that that wasn’t what made him cry and hold onto Chengcheng as he slept. It was what Wenjun told him, and what Zhengting then told the rest of them.

Slowly, carefully, he peeled him off him, taking care to nestle him back into the pillows and blankets as he climbed out of bed and slipped his feet into his shoes. He could hear Xinchun’s snoring on the bed beside them.

Chengcheng left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him, and very, very slowly began to make his way down the dimly illuminated hall. He could feel his heart still thumping under his ribs, almost painfully, though his stomach was empty and hollow. He made his way to the medical centre.

The place was too familiar now to him. The antiseptic smell was almost unrecognizable as he pushed his way in, the path to the bed in the corner of the room so distinct, he didn’t need light to find his way. He walked past Yanchen’s sleeping form, then Ziyi’s bed. The beeping in the room got louder as he moved.

Justin looked as he always did when he finally reached his bed. The tube in his nose and over his mouth was still pumping air into his lungs, his blond hair too long and falling over his eyes. His roots were deep brown now, covering the scar Chengcheng knew was carved over one eyebrow. He didn’t flinch when Chengcheng took his hand and squeezed it once tightly. 

“Huang Minghao.” Chengcheng whispered softly. The name was almost foreign on his tongue, a term that Justin had insisted Chengcheng never call him, and that Chengcheng never questioned. He wondered now if Justin was, like him, trying to erase a past he didn’t want, in the hope that he could become someone new, someone better.

Chengcheng didn’t necessarily agree. Justin as he was now was the best person he could ever meet.

Even as he looked on his sleeping form, Chengcheng felt that part of his chest ache painfully. His longing for the boy burned, spreading from his heart and filling out into the rest of his body. Chengcheng squeezed Justin’s hand tighter.

“Hey, Minghao. You’ve been gone for more than a month now, yeah?” he said softly, staring at Justin’s closed eyelids, “It’s been a month since you came to get me at JYP, and so much shit has happened. Zeren and Yanchen got together. SM broke in again. We actually have some leads now to take them down. Oh, and Zhengting and Xukun are sort of friends now, though maybe you wouldn’t like that too much.”

He sighed, beginning to rub small circles into the back of Justin’s hand. “Wenjun told Zhengting something today.” He heard his voice crack slightly at the end. “It was about you. Zhengting came back after a mission with Xukun and Wenjun told him something and then Zhengting told me. He actually slept with me tonight; it was sort of funny. We were actually sleeping in your bed, and Zhengting was holding onto me so tight, I’d almost be glad to have your fat ass on me every night.” He paused, then as his chest constricted, he said quickly, “Actually, I would be glad to get you back. I’ve been wanting that for the past five weeks now.”

Another deep breath. “Anyways. Wenjun told Zhengting that if we wanted to keep you alive, we should probably do some sort of brain surgery to you. I’m not sure what it is, you know what Wenjun is like with his fancy medical terms. But I think it’s something like a lobotomy? I’m not sure. They would cut your skull though.”

Chengcheng stopped, his breath catching in his throat. He carefully reached down and brushed hair out of Justin’s face, his heart leaping up to his throat when he surveyed the boy’s dark eyebrows and strangely stoic face. Why had it taken this long for him to realize what he felt for the boy in the bed? Why did it take him being wrenched away from him to notice what he had been feeling all along?

“Wenjun told Zhengting that you wouldn’t be the same after the surgery though.” His words were so soft, he barely felt them leaving his lips. “He said that you would not be able to coordinate your movements or something. You’d probably forget how to speak as well. You wouldn’t be the same.”

Justin didn’t know how much he held in his hands. He didn’t know how he held Chengcheng’s entire heart in the centre of his palm, how firmly it beated right now, as he clutched at Justin’s hand like a lifeline. His next words barely left his mouth at all. “Sometimes, I wish we could just unplug you.”

Instead of cold, warmth filled the spaces in his body. Chengcheng still shivered though, his entire form numb and stiff. 

It was the truth. How many times had Chengcheng stared at Justin, hearing the machines around him beep in tune with his own heart, watching him take every laboured breath? How many times had he heard the shouting and yelling outside the medical center, people going on missions and fooling around, each time a sharp reminder of what Justin couldn’t do? How many times did he claw his face and dig his fingers into his thighs when he realized that Justin was fading away under his very eyes? He had hoped, prayed for Justin to wake up, and he still did. But each day he didn’t, Chengcheng felt the cold shard in his chest sink deeper, until it had nearly cut completely through and until he almost couldn’t stand the hurt anymore.

Unplugging him would be better, a voice would sometimes say in the back of his mind. A shameful one, one that he shot and killed each time it crept up, though admittedly, one that grew in strength over time. 

One that was stronger now than ever before as he stared down at Justin’s face, mere hours after Wenjun had dropped the bombshell on the rest of them. To save Justin, they would have to perform some crazy surgery on his head, one that would change him forever. In all logic, Chengcheng should have been glad, screaming with joy, but he wasn’t.

Selfishly, he thought of the way Justin screamed and ran around every day. He remembered the way he randomly climbed on Wenjun from behind and how he stole his way into the pantry to steal snacks. He remembered the way he threw a knife into the neck of a man trying to sock Chengcheng in the face, the way he looked with sweat pouring off him as he boxed into a sandbag, the sounds he’d make as he fought. He thought of his wide smile, his loud laugh, the way he looked at him in the mornings. And he remembered somewhere along the way, how he woke up one day with Justin snoring on top of him, and thinking that he wouldn’t mind if he had to feel this way every day for the rest of his life. Justin was his family now, the one who had given him a chance to live all those years back in that dusty pit, the one who had always put Chengcheng above him, the one who had killed himself for him.

He didn’t want Justin to lose that. He didn’t want to lose Justin like that.

Somewhere, somewhere more selfless, he knew that Justin wouldn’t want that either.

He knew that it wasn’t his decision to make. He knew that Justin didn’t belong to him, that Wenjun and Zeren and Yanchen and Ziyi and everyone who had grown to love him had a right to decide together. He knew that Zhengting loved him more than he loved anything else, that seeing him like this tore him apart at the seams perhaps even deeper than Chengcheng himself felt. It didn’t prevent his hand from leaving his face and trailing slowly towards one of the larger machines beside him though, moving with each beat of Justin’s own heart as Chengcheng could feel under his fingertips.

His finger rested on a switch near the top. He didn’t know what it was for, but it didn’t matter. Chengcheng raised Justin’s hand slowly to his mouth, the skin hot under his lips. He lowered it, and, letting the desire and longing and hurt and  _ love _ overwhelm him for a moment, carefully pressed his mouth to his forehead.

The scar was hot as well under his lips.

He knew then, pulling away, that he could never bear to see Justin any different. He couldn’t see him live his life locked away in his bed, the way his flesh would sink into his face and the way he would open his mouth and only have garbled, rough grunting come out. He couldn’t see him cry when he realized that he would never be able to talk or fight or play again. He couldn’t see him have to relearn everything, and even then perhaps never even getting everything back.

Chengcheng closed his eyes, felt the tears drip down his cheeks, and pressed down.

There was a click. 

***

Justin squeezed his hand, ever so gently. Chengcheng pressed the switch again as a sob tore its way out of his throat.


	67. Justin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> overdue :)

The first thing that Justin felt was the pain in his right hand. 

It ground down hard against his fingers, enveloping his hand until the pain spread from his knuckles down into his wrist and the rest of his arm. He moaned, the pain seeming to amplify through his body, his mind groggily wondering how he could feel this sore from one squeeze of his hand. 

He tried opening his eyes. He was too sore and too tired. He tried again. Still hurt too bad. 

So instead, he let his mouth go slack, feeling cool air on his tongue and realizing just how dry everything was. He tried to take a deeper breath than the shallow gasps he registered he was making, but realized that there was a tube poking down his throat that he couldn’t get around. 

His entire body ached like someone had twisted every muscle and every bone before forcing them back into place. The surface of his skin was painfully cold and numb, his stomach and arms screaming as he tried to move a bit around. 

Then suddenly, he felt something squeeze his hand again. Less painful, but with the same amount of pressure. Almost on impulse, he squeezed back, hearing a slight hitch of breath somewhere over the static buzzing in his ears and feeling warmth at the tip of his fingers.

His hand was dropped, thudding onto a cool surface. The shock of it sent a jolt of pain up his arm, and he wondered absently why it hurt like he was stiff and cold when his mind told him that he wasn’t making any sense.

Slowly, carefully, groggily, he let his eyes crack open.

He had to thank god that wherever he was wasn’t too bright; it was dark, with only a very pale glow of late coming from somewhere on his left. There seemed to only be dark shapes flitting around in his vision, though to be fair, every one of his senses seemed to be dulled. 

Except for the pain in his hand of course. 

Justin scowled then, twisting his mouth before realizing how much even that hurt. He flinched, blinking quickly, as the world around him came into sharper focus.

A dark form above him. He could see a long thin figure peering down at him, eyes glowing from the little light reflecting off of them. They were brown, deep and familiar, and as the cotton balls in his brain carefully fell away, his eyes widened.

JYP!

The thoughts came trickling in, stiff and muted like the rest of his senses, and through the hazy cloud in his mind, he began to piece together more of what happened. Wu Yifan. The guards. Blood. A bullet. A motorcycle.

An opening door and a pair of arms. 

Justin blinked harder. The form above him had retreated, sunk back into the shadows, where he was sitting on a chair. If he looked harder, he could see that he had one of his hands pressed tightly to his nose and eyes. 

He was crying.

It wasn’t obvious at first, just some faint sniffling he recognized, but if he focused, he could see the wet, shiny tracks trickling down his face and nose, and gradually, the sounds he made fell away into louder, more gasping sobs. 

He looked at him, and Justin peered back. 

Chengcheng.

His hair was longer.

Justin opened his mouth, but remembered the tube shoved down it. He blinked harder. Chengcheng continued to sob. 

After a brief moment, he stood, hand still pressing to the mess of snot and tears on his face. He looked at Justin, sobbed harder, then turned and left.

Justin lay there, unfeeling, unmoving, trying to make sense of what was happening.

Minutes passed. Justin almost drifted off again; he was so exhausted yet it hurt so bad he couldn’t fall asleep.

A loud bang, some raised voices and thumping feet.

Zhu Zhengting’s face peering eagerly down at him.

“Huang Minghao!” He gasped, before promptly bursting into tears. 

A pair of hands he recognized as Wenjun’s were on him, gentle as they pulled the tubes out of his throat. The one in his nose remained. 

Zhengting kept clawing at his face, looking so happy yet so anguished at the same time. The fuzzy part of his mind wanted to tell him how ugly he looked with his face red and snot dribbling down everywhere. The logical part made him ask why.

Zhengting looked up behind him, apparently asking a silent question to Wenjun, before staring back down at Justin and throwing his arms around him.

“Minghao, never leave me again!” He kept saying, choking into Justin’s neck. 

Another face in his vision. Quanzhe sobbing even louder and messier than Zhengting.

“Justin!” He babbled, “You’re a fucking asshole.”

Xinchun was there too, tears in his eyes as he clutched to Quanzhe’s back. He kept opening his mouth and shutting it, water leaking down his face. 

“I’m gonna raise you a bit, okay?” Wenjun’s voice was gentle. Justin tried to crane his neck to see him, but there was some band around his head, and he couldn’t move it well.

The surface he was lying on raised slightly, the bands around him loosened. His body throbbed in pain but he still darted his eyes around, seeing Zhengting, Quanzhe, Xinchun, and oh, there was Wenjun, crying softly but steadily without wiping anything away. 

Zeren, slightly behind. He stood stiffy, hands pinned tightly across his chest. He wasn’t crying, but his eyes were steamy with film and both his arms and mouth wouldn’t stop shaking. He pressed the heel of his hand to one eye, gaze never wavering away from Justin’s. 

There were other voices-- Yanchen? Ziyi?-- in the room, but his senses were still dulled and nothing came clearly. He couldn’t see them either, and he wondered idly why they wouldn’t let Justin see them. He should ask why. He could. 

Justin opened his mouth, but quickly shut it again. Zhengting was clutching at his arm, burying his face and head into Justin’s side, and even though he had to wince from the pressure, he felt thick hot tears smear through his clothes and the shaking of his entire body and he left it.

So instead, he looked up at the door, to come eye to eye with Fan Chengcheng again.

Chengcheng stared at him, eyes still glinting with tears. And suddenly, Justin felt an enormous surge of affection for him, all warm and pulsating, fall through his body and settle warmly in the pit of his stomach. He smiled. Chengcheng looked stricken.

He turned without another look and left the room.

A sharp stabbing pain in his chest, not exactly physical, but it hurt so bad, so acutely, for a fraction of a second that it might have been.

Zhengting kept babbling to him, tripping over his own words. Oh Minghao, Minghao. Never leave us again. Don’t do stupid shit like that ever again. You fucking asshole. JYP infiltration! I swear I’m gonna kill you when you recover. If you die now I’ll hunt you. Please, Minghao. Please.

He paused then, grasping at Justin. Wenjun came over with a squeeze bottle of water and eased it into Justin’s mouth. His tongue was stubborn and dry and Wenjun had to douse them wet for him to start feeling his mouth again. He coughed, and it hurt.

“What?” He said clumsily, his tongue a useless muscle in his mouth. “What happen?”

“You broke into JYP and got shot up, remember?” Zhengting’s voice was gentle but still teetering on something between pain and joy.

“Why?”

“They had Chengcheng. You went and got him back for us.” Wenjun murmured softly. “You almost died.”

“Me?”

Quanzhe snorted. “Of course, dimwit. You got yourself a shit ton of injuries and I swear to god I have no idea how you’re even alive right now after losing that much blood.”

He groaned. “My head hurts.”

“I know, I know.” Zhengting said soothingly. He leaned forward and kissed his forehead. Justin felt a rush of bewilderment. “Take it easy, Justin. We can talk later about what happened.”

He still has some hazy recollection of what they’re talking about. He remembers following tire tracks on a motorcycle-- Yanchen’s. He remembers getting a cut. He remembers that girl who was strung up behind a glass panel. He remembers Yifan shooting at him and the outline of a keycard on the inside of his jacket. He remembers sharp blood and soft stairs and thick air. He remembers those arms that caught him.

“Chengcheng.” The words were out before he could stop them,

Zhengting exchanged a glance with Wenjun, then looked around him. Chengcheng wasn’t here.

“He… needs a moment apparently. He’ll come back, don’t worry. Just rest, Minghao.”

He remembers killing Yifan when he said something disgusting about Chengcheng. He remembers not caring before driving away to get him back. He remembers tearing one poor soldier apart to get info for where he was being held. He remembers Chengcheng’s surprised face when he pushed open the door and spiralled into colour and nothingness.

“Why?”

Wenjun looked down at him gently, sensing his confusion. His voice was even gentler when he spoke again. “Justin, you’ve been in a coma for over five weeks now. Just rest.”

He did, his family sobbing around him, his mind drifting so that the pain throughout his body would subside, though the sullen face of the boy he needed to see the most didn’t appear at all. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will follow up with a better chapt i promise


	68. Ziyi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooo took 10 years again! im sorry i update so little compared to before, but ive had a mini writers block and had to plan ahead a bit. also, uni results basically just came out or are coming out so added stress loooool.
> 
> ty as always for reading on!

Ziyi woke up to the sound of Zhengting sobbing and the sound of a scratchy voice he hadn’t heard in weeks. 

Perhaps looking back, he should have realized quicker that Justin was awake, but in the moment, all he could think about was how weird it was that Zhengting was crying in the middle of the night. Then he remembered the other voice and mentally slapped himself hard to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming. His abdomen was throbbing still, Qin Fen and Mubo’s drugs making the flesh knit back together with each painful pump of his heart, and the noise only amplified the pain.

But then, Justin said something, louder, “What happened?”

It was enough for him to realize that he wasn’t just dreaming and that Zhengting actually had a reason to be crying so hard.

The rest of the night happened in a blur. Justin dropped off to sleep pretty soon-- Ziyi supposed that comas were more tiring than he’d thought--, and Zhengting sobbed messily until the very early hours of the morning. Xukun had come in too, spared a glance at everyone else before seeing the finally evened out breathing of the now black, brown, and yellow haired boy on the bed. His eyes had gone more teary than Ziyi had expected.

Ziyi didn’t want to say anything to intrude on Zhengting and Justin’s little family reunion after so long, but his own eyes were hot and heavy, and he didn’t even flinch from pain when he turned over a little to press them into the scratchy fabric of the medical center’s beds.

The following days had been just as emotional. Justin woke up for the second time the next morning, at a quarter to noon, with a complaint fresh on his lips for water to rinse the bad taste out of his mouth. Zhengting was only too happy to oblige him, trying to stuff him immediately before Wenjun had the better sense to stop him. Justin had pouted when Wenjun told him just how strict of a diet he was going to have to go on, and complained heartily as he ate his measly rice soup. Wenjun scolded a little, but his smile was wide and happy, and that was all Ziyi thought was important. 

He did see him looking out the window a few times, a wistful sort of sadness painted in his eyes, but Ziyi didn’t comment on it.

He did want to ask how it happened though. The last time Wenjun had talked to him he had told him just how many surgeries Justin would need to even wake up. Ziyi had just about prepared himself to pull the other medics aside to ask how high the chances of his survival were, but it seemed like Justin had recovered fast. Just woke up in the middle of the night looking for a drink of water.

He also wanted to know why Chengcheng didn’t come visit him at all.

Chengcheng had been the ghost of the medical center for so long, Ziyi was almost uncomfortable not waking up and seeing him read quietly by Justin’s bed or just look out the window at the birds that rested on the roof, but he was more confused when Justin asked Zhengting the day after why he hadn’t seen Chengcheng since when he first woke up.

Ziyi himself had only awoken after Chengcheng left, so this was news.

The boy hadn’t come to visit Justin at all, which surprised him considering just how much time he spent looking over his comatose body. Justin was obviously confused as well, asking around why he couldn’t come and looking like a kicked puppy when the answers came out weak and confusing. Ziyi understood just as much as he did; he didn’t get why Chengcheng wouldn’t come see him at all, and he couldn’t understand why Justin waking up would make him so upset. Xukun had told him just how unhappy he’d been.

Xukun had also told him of the mission him and Zhengting had gone on, and though he worried Ziyi with how carefully he was opening himself up for Zhengting again, he had to admit that it was a good idea.

It gave him a bit more closure with what had happened years ago, and even better, it had brought back a piece of crucial information for their next mission.

Zhengting explained this last part as he sat beside his bed on a wooden stool, eyes drifting fondly once and a while to Justin freaking out over Zeren and Yanchen finally having gotten together.

“I gave the computers we found to Jeffrey, and he rifted through the code until he found some actually good info.”

Another thing: Jeffrey. Ziyi also hadn’t seen him recently, a fact that bothered him more than he felt was normal.

“He did?” Of course he did. It’s Jeffrey Dong, of course he found good info. 

“Yeah.” Zhengting murmured, still focused on Justin’s bewildered face at Yanchen’s bright laugh and Zeren’s flustered cheeks. “The Guixin Hotel.”

“The what hotel?”

“The Guixin Hotel.” Zhengting turned his attention back to him. “The Demon Heart Hotel. Our last target owned a chain of hotels and this one, the one in Changsha, is one of the most expensive.” He raised an eyebrow. “But more importantly, it’s the primary getaway location for Byun Baekhyun and his various boy toys.”

Ziyi almost dropped the mantou he was trying to eat lying down. “What?”

“You heard me.” Zhengting sighed and took the mantou out of his fingers. He tore off a chunk and gave the rest back. “Xukun wants us to head over and camp out until they go again.”

Ziyi watched as the chunk of mantou disappeared into his mouth. “Does Xukun have a reason why?”

“He said that we can’t take any more risks with Byun Baekhyun.” Zhengting said, stealing another piece of the mantou. “Third in command at SM now knows our primary location and even broke in and took back his supposed lover and leader of the prostitution branch.” He tsked. “You tell me what we should do if not to attack him.”

The thing with Zhengting is that he’s so deceptively soft. He looks beautiful and graceful at first glance, and he’s playful enough to do things like steal bits of mantou from an invalid like himself. He whines and cries easily, and he’s so kind to everyone he meets it’s almost impossible to not assume things about him immediately. Ziyi thought that way when Zhang Yixing first pushed him into their dorm room and told him to take care of him. However, that’s the thing; he’s only deceptively so. The real Zhengting is sharp and dangerous, careful and shrewd. He stabs acutely and hurts carefully, almost like he’s afraid to shatter the already cracked person inside him. 

That’s what he’s showing Ziyi now. He sits at the chair beside his bed and eats his mantou, looking at Ziyi with those pretty, pretty eyes. He’s deceptively careful, a complete contrast to the thorns he hides in his speech. 

“I suppose?”

“I just wanted to let you know, since you’re not gonna be going and all.”

“I can’t go?” He knows the answer, but he’s humouring himself for now.

“Stupid.” Zhengting scoffs, “You have a fucking hole going through your stomach and you wanna go? Even if Xukun didn’t kill you, I would.”

Ziyi finishes his mantou. “How do you know that Byun is gonna go there again?”

Zhengting laughs at that. “Jeffrey, of course! I thought you would have known that! Aren’t you guys close?”

That strikes a nerve. Before Zhengting came back, Jeffrey was just another member of the Retributation, someone who he could talk to well to destress once in a while. A great techie. But now that they’ve spent more and more time together, he supposes that they can be considered friends. But then again, maybe recently, not so much; Jeffrey hasn’t come to see him in a week now, ever since he stormed out of the medical wing leaving his plate of peeled apples. 

“I think so?” He says lamely as a response. Jeffrey is a friend still, he decides. He feels nice with Jeffrey. He’s a friend.

Zhengting just shakes his head. “You spend so much time together and you’re not close?” Then, he squints. “But then again, you haven’t hung out too much recently. He’s too busy I guess, with all the work we’re dumping on him.”

Ziyi nods stiffly, though at the back of his mind, Jeffrey’s gentle voice is there telling him to rest more from work.

“I’m okay with you and Xukun going on a mission without me, by the way.” He says offhandedly, trying to change the topic.

“Yeah, we’re still planning it, but I think it should be worthwhile.” He looks at his fingers when he says this, and Ziyi can’t help but ask.

“How are you and him going, anyways.”

Zhengting’s head shoots up, eyes wide and trusting. He’s hiding his thorns well. “Me and him?”

“You and him.” He confirms. Zhengting peers at him, as if to decipher what he means. Ziyi looks back impassively.

Finally, he sighs, “I can’t lie to you. You’re too good at telling when I’m lying.” Ziyi nods in agreement. “I think we’re trying to be friends again, you know, try to go a bit past radio silence, glaring, and screaming for once.”

He nods. “And impromptu sex?” He raises an eyebrow at Zhengting’s sudden flush.

Zhengting glares at him, fiery and hot. “None of that.”

“Yes.” He agrees, “Becoming friends before fucking again sounds better than just jumping right onto his dick.”

Zhengting stares at him, scandalized, and so does Ziyi when he realizes what he’s just said. It’s not common for him to speak this way, though, he thinks privately, it was coming. Maybe it’s that spark of resentment he still holds towards Zhengting for leaving and hurting Xukun so badly like he did. The way he hurt  _ him _ and  _ Yanchen _ and  _ Xingjie _ and the rest of them.

“Those words don’t belong in your mouth.” Zhengting scolds. “You’re too good for that.”

He clears his throat, an impulse making its way out his mouth. “But seriously. How do you feel about all this.”

Zhengting really looks at him then. He doesn’t talk but his eyes are wide and shielded, carefully guarded and prickled at the edges with razor blades, his face beautiful like a papercut. He says, very lowly, very carefully. “How does  _ he  _ feel?”

There’s no hesitation when he answers. “He would die for you.” And it’s true. Xukun would die for Zhengting and only Zhengting if it came to it. Even when he hated him-- even now-- he would burn the entire world just so that Zhengting could live happily. Xukun wouldn’t admit it, but Ziyi  _ knows _ him and has seen what knowing him means. And from the way Zhengting is looking back at him, he knows that Zhengting knows that too.

It fills him with a momentary sort of bitterness, the kind that comes every time he remembers his best friend’s breakdown after Zhu Zhengting left SM. A tinge of resentment and fear for what could happen again. A flare of frosty uncertainty. 

But then, he looks into Zhengting’s eyes and the feeling’s replaced. He’s not bitter, but fearful. He feels his back grow cold and his face tense up. Zhengting’s eyes are completely trusting of him, soft and sharp and so, so dangerous. 

Ziyi is suddenly so, so afraid of what will happen if Zhengting finds out about him and Xukun having slept together, many, many times over the years, but at the same time, he’s angry because it was Zhengting’s fault that he left Xukun behind aching for just a bit more surety.

Zhengting shakes his head, stands, mumbles something about needing to plan the mission, and hurries off. Justin’s laughing at something Yanchen said, and even though he ought to cry at the fact that he’s actually awake and crying, it just seems jarring. 

He presses the small radio at his side and mutters into it for Xukun to come see him. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah lol there is no way in hell zzt would be chill with ziyi just being like 'yeah i've fucked your ex boyfriend'.
> 
> sorry :(
> 
> but come leave a message on my curious cat @ramenree


	69. Zhangjing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yohoho im back again. im actually working on a new fic, so stay tuned cuz it gonna be so good. dw tho, i will finish this fic cuz its my baby <3
> 
> enjoy some zhangdejun, cuz we all miss them so much

Zhangjing returned from the kitchen to see Justin grabbing at Yanjun’s arm and talking so loud, he could hear him from outside the door.

“So Xukun and Zhengting are okay with each other again?” he asked, as Zhangjing at on the edge of his bed and leaned his back against Linong’s shoulder. “Or was I tripping when I saw them talk to each other civilly when I woke up?”

“They haven’t argued for a while now.” Yanjun confirmed with a nod. He smiled at Zhangjing, who only rolled his eyes and passed an apple to him. “Maybe they won’t again.”

“They’re never gonna stop arguing.” Zhangjing interjected. He turned to Justin and handed him another apple, frowning when the boy almost ripped the tubes stuck into his arms in his haste to grab it. “They’re both crazy, even if they are crazy for each other.”

Linong snorted. “We’re all crazy anyways.”

Justin took a munch out of his apple as Zhangjing pressed the last one into Linong’s hand. “You know who actually is crazy? Fan Chengcheng.” He tried to seem aloof as he crunched loudly, eyes straying away from their gazes, but by the involuntary twitching of one of his eyebrows, Zhangjing could tell that it wasn’t something he really wanted to joke about.

It wasn’t as if Justin hadn’t been complaining all week about Chengcheng’s absence in the medical wing after he had woken up. The boy had done nothing but ask about what had happened in the first few days after he had woken up, and that had included asking about why Chengcheng wouldn’t come see him.

“It’s been a day already and Fan Chengcheng still hasn’t found a good reason to not see me!” Justin had croaked loudly. Zhangjing could only exchange a worried glance with Zhengting before Yanjun put his hand on his shoulder and he knew to not say anything about it.

It was strange though, he thought. Chengcheng had spent almost every waking-- even sleeping, honestly-- hour with Justin when he was out, and from the listless way he had survived those weeks, anyone could tell how much he wished it was all going to be alright. But now, when by some miracle-- he couldn’t figure out how in the hell Justin managed to wake up just when Wenjun, Mubo, and Qin Fen decided that he could only have surgery if he wanted to survive-- Justin actually woke up, weak and shaky but alive, he disappeared. Xukun told him that Chengcheng either trains or takes a mission with someone else every day, but he had yet to even see the boy. 

Now, almost a week later, Justin had stopped asking Zhengting, Linong, or even Zhangjing himself about just why Chengcheng won’t come to see him, but by the confusion and disappointment he sees in his eyes each time he walks into the medical wing and Justin looks up only to realize it isn’t the person he’s been waiting for, Zhangjing can tell what he wants.

So he doesn’t answer Justin’s comment. Instead, Zhangjing ruffled the top of his head and tutted gently. “Your hair is so weird now. It’s yellow at the ends, brown in the middle, but your roots are black. You should choose one colour, not three.”

The brief bitterness in Justin’s eyes is replaced by thoughtfulness. “What colour do you think would look nice?”

“You would look fine with any colour hair.” Nongnong muses quietly, to which Yanjun nods.

“Maybe I’ll just dye it brown. Light brown. It was time I stopped being a blonde.” Justin spat out an apple seed into his hand and placed it on his side table. “Can you help me dye it sometime, Nong?”

“Maybe you should ask Mr Silver-Hair over here.” Linong laughs, and Yanjun rolls his eyes.

Zhangjing joins in with their laughter, leaning back into Linong, spying Yanjun’s dimpled face out of the corner of his eye. Justin’s eyes still have that tinge of bitterness, but his laugh is so loud, it drowns out any overarching concern.

“Seems like you guys are having fun.” Xukun’s voice is passionless, but when Zhangjing turns his head to look at him, he can see that he’s smiling. “And I was just about to drop some more serious news on everyone.”

“You can still tell us.” Justin wags his eyebrows. “I’ve been needing some seriousness in my life-- a serious ass-kicking for some people.” 

“Ha ha,” Xukun deadpans, pulling up a chair and sitting down in it. “Actually, you won’t have anything to do with what I’m gonna propose.”

Justin lets out a small screech, but Yanjun presses in with interest. “What’s happening?”

“New mission.” Xukun smiles wryly. “We’re gonna break into Guixin Hotel, in Changsha.”

A moment of silence.

“Is there a reason why we’re travelling all the way to fucking Changsha to break into this hotel, especially when we’re just about to move to our safe house?” Yanjun said, with a measured tone.

“Byun Baekhyun will be there,” Xukun sighs. “Zhengting got Jeffrey to decode the computers we got from that mission we went on together and he found that apparently, Byun takes some men there near the end of every month or so. We can’t pass this opportunity up to take him out.”

“Okay, and?” Yanjun pressed on.

“I want you, Zhangjing, and Nong to come on the trip with me. We need a plane to get there in time, and Zhangjing is good for hacking into stuff like this. He’s also great at navigating when we’re actually at the hotel. Yanjun, you and Linong are perfect for this job too, since the Guixin is full of rich and powerful businesspeople, who you’ve had the most experience dealing with.”

Xukun looked directly at Zhangjing when he said all this, as if already asking if it was alright.

Yanjun cut in again. “Who else is going?”

“I want to ask Wenjun, since the place is so far and we can’t risk going there without a medic. I would have asked Qin Fen since he was trained as an agent before hurting himself, but he needs to stay here to make sure Ziyi recovers from his surgery completely. And with Justin having woken up, that adds even more pressure onto the medics that I’m not prepared to take away Mubo or Fen for. I want to ask Zhengting too.” The last sentence was spoken very quietly, almost tacked on as an afterthought.

Zhangjing can feel Yanjun’s eyes bore into him at the same time Linong stiffens slightly from where he’s leaning against his shoulder. He looks back at Xukun evenly.

“I’ll think about it,” is all he says for now. “I just… I want to make sure I can execute a mission this scale without mishaps.”

Xukun nods back, seemingly pleased with his answer. He turns to the other two. “Will you two go?”

Yanjun is still looking at Zhangjing-- he can tell-- but Nongnong replied with a helpful “Of course we will. You need us, right?”

“It would be appreciated.” Xukun smiled.

“We’ll be there. When do you want to leave?”

As Xukun filled him in, Zhangjing felt a familiar pressure on his leg. He flinches unwillingly, but still feels a stab of shame when he feels the hand slink away. He turns his head to see Yanjun staring apologetically at his hand, and quickly puts his own on Yanjun’s thigh as reassurance. 

Xukun leaves with a thank you and a ruffle of Justin’s hair, muttering about the awkward blend of colours that the boy yelps at and that Xukun promises to bring back a pack of brown dye for. The door closes, and Justin is the first one to sigh.

“Was it wishful thinking to hope that he would let me come too?”

“Of course it is.” Zhangjing soothes him, taking the apple core away from his hand. “But for now, I need to throw this away.” He stands and makes for the door, letting Nongnong take the blunt of Justin’s complaining. Nongnong is used to listening to everyone’s bullshit anyways.

It’s only when he steps out into the hall that he lets out the breath he’s been holding, his heart still thrumming under his chest. It’s shameful almost, he thinks, to feel like this when it’s just a stupid mission, especially when it’s a stupid mission that is important for everyone’s continued safety. Even though he knows how important it is, and even though it’s been months since that incident, he can’t seem to stop the shaking that runs through his arms.

“Zhangjing.” 

He turns, plastering on a bright smile, and comes face to face with Yanjun peering down at him. He runs his eyes over his face, seeing nothing but stone, and his smile can’t help but waver a little. “Do you wanna come with me to drop off the garbage?” He waves the apple core weakly in front of his eyes.

“Zhangjing, do you want to go on this mission?”

He stops there. Yanjun is still peering down at him, eyes dark and indecipherable, mouth set but not unforgivingly. The way he’s looking at him is like he can see right through his skin and flesh and focus on the rapid beating of Zhangjing’s heart or see the shivering running up and down his spine. 

And suddenly, his heart isn’t in his chest but in Yanjun’s hands. Yanjun’s pretty, handsome hands that are currently held loosely at his hands as he looks at nothing but Zhangjing: they’re holding Zhangjing’s heart and he doesn’t even know it. Zhangjing knows though, he can feel it because it was never anchored to himself in the first place: it was his the moment Yanjun asked him to help out with a code all those years ago, back in the old technology department at SM. Yanjun took his heart with him at the same time he took Zhangjing back to his dorm room, and Zhangjing feels stupid that he didn’t realize until just recently that he did so. He’s watching Yanjun hold his entire being, all his feelings and emotions, in his hands and he can barely breath.

“I do,” he mutters, because it’s the truth. He doesn’t want to keep feeling the way he does. The last mission was fine-- he and Yanjun and Linong did great as they usually did-- and he knows it. He knows they did fine, and he told Yanjun they did fine, but he’s afraid that Yanjun is too good at reading everyone because he doesn’t think he hid how afraid he still felt during the fight. When he watched Yanjun and Linong walk into the mansion and he stayed alone in the van outside, and then later on, watch Yanjun fight within an inch of his life with nothing but a switchblade and his fists, and Linong get taken to bed by two other men who didn’t know the preciousness of what they were sleeping with. Zhangjing watched as he always did, he gave the right directions-- hell, they came to him naturally, like riding a bike almost, that’s how easy it was for him-- but he couldn’t stop the shivering. He said he was going to be fine, and he was fine, but it didn’t feel fine and he hates it.

He doesn’t want Lin Yanjun to know that though. He wants Yanjun to know that he’s okay. That it wasn’t Yanjun’s fault that he’s afraid now, that Yanjun doesn’t have to protect him anymore. 

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine,” he repeats, stronger now.

“Are you sure?” Yanjun crowds into him, face not moving but eyes boring into his own. 

“Yeah,” he says back, holding his ground against his piercing gaze.

Yanjun studies him for a long moment. “I don’t want you to get hurt or feel like you have to do this.”

Zhangjing’s heart throbs from where it’s nestled in Yanjun’s fingers. “I’m going to be fine. I want to be fine.”

Yanjun stares at him for another long moment. Zhangjing feels like he’s caging him in, with the intensity of the moment. Really, he can’t even bear to think what Yanjun might be thinking, so he focuses on how even now, Yanjun’s arms feel like home, even when he’s staring him down like he’s a piece of prey for him to guard. It’s always been him. He just took a while to get here.

“Okay.” Yanjun backs off before throwing him a hesitant smile. “Let’s go throw Justin’s apple away, then start looking into that plane Xukun wants.”

Zhangjing agrees with a nod and refuses to think about it when Yanjun throws his arm around his shoulder and pulls him into the warmth of his chest. His heart is still beating, but it’s barely hanging from Yanjun’s fingertips.

***

It’s evening when he goes to see Linong. 

The boy is shuffling about in the medical wing, sweeping up bits of plants and powder from the floor. Zhangjing chuckles to himself; of course Linong would want to help Wenjun out. 

He slips into the room quickly and shuts the doors behind him. He just barely got rid of Yanjun by telling him that Dinghao had something to tell him when in reality Dinghao probably just wanted to find someone to talk to about how cute Xinchun is and how interesting he can make something as boring as computers sound. 

But he’s alone now, and he has something to ask Linong.

“Zhangjing!” the boy looks up with a smile. “What’s up? I’m sleeping on time tonight, don’t worry. I just had to help Wenjun out with cleaning up first.”

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s nothing bad.” Zhangjing laughs. He takes a seat on a bed in the corner, spying that down the line of beds, Zeren has pushed Justin’s bed near Yanchen and Ziyi’s and is now sitting at the edge of another as Justin and Yanchen laugh over something. “You and Wenjun really do get along, huh?”

Linong straightens and smiles at him, eyes soft. “Yeah, he’s a really nice person, you know?”

There’s more to it, if Linong’s eyes are really vulnerable or if that’s just the face he puts on when he’s working, because he knows that the men he seduces only want the soft, cute boy and not the hardened, kind boy he really is. 

“I’m glad to hear that. He makes you smile more.”

“I smile-”

“The real one.”

Linong pauses, looks at the broom in his hand, then looks back at Zhangjing. His face is so childishly blank for a moment, Zhangjing laughs. Linong needs to figure out whatever he’s thinking for himself. “Anyways, I came to find you for something.”

“Hmm?”

“I just wanted to know… Do you think Yanjun is protective of me?” 

He says it casually, but the look on Linong’s face makes him feel like maybe it wasn’t too casual of a question in the first place.

“What makes you ask that?” Linong asks, bewildered. He looks like he knows something though, and Zhangjing presses on, his heart beating fast.

“It’s just… I never really noticed how protective Yanjun is of me. I think that’s why I always feel so safe when I’m with him? I just think he’s even more protective of me now, since he had to actually ask if I was going to be okay with going on the mission.”

“Are you?” Linong looks at him, still piercing like Yanjun’s, staring through him like a socialite would, but it’s gentler, and more of like a suggestion. Zhangjing sighs and gives in.

“To be honest, I’m not 100% fine. I’m still scared all the time, which I know is stupid. But I want to use this as an opportunity to get back to how I was before, y’know? I wanna stop feeling like this whenever someone touches me or whenever I have to leave the building.”

“Is that how you feel?” Linong is still looking at him, though it’s more curious now then piercing.

“A little bit, at least,” he admits. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore, and I know there’s nothing to be afraid of, but I still feel so open when I think about what we’re doing everyday!” He says the last part a little too forcefully, and he sees Linong jerk back, surprised at his outburst. His face is bitter when he speaks again.

“I know how you feel, Zhangjing, but we are who we are. We can’t stop doing what we do.” He smiles, but this time, it’s his fake one.

Zhangjing knows too what Linong is saying, but it doesn’t stop the shame from filling him. It’s the same reason why he didn’t say anything to him or Yanjun before, because he now knows that they’ve probably grappled with the same idea for years; it only took one time of what they do on a daily basis to cut into Zhangjing deep enough to understand.

“But to answer your question,” Linong says thoughtfully a moment later, “of course Yanjun is protective of you. He loves you and I do too. We love you, and, no offence, you can’t defend yourself as well as we can.”

“I know that,” he says back. “But Yanjun specifically. Does he protect me even more?” He presses on, “Don’t try to deny it, but I know what you did to Hendery; it was in the papers.”

Linong’s face drains of colour, “You know?” 

Zhangjing closes his eyes and sees the man’s mangled body again on the cover of the newspaper. He sees the blood and the broken limbs, he sees the fingers that touched him and he shivers hard. He opens his eyes again.

“Yeah, I do.”

Linong studies him, face pale but grounded again. Zhangjing can see that he’s not about to lie to him.

“Yanjun… I guess he’s more protective of you than others,” he starts slowly. “He makes sure that you’re safe, and when he’s with me and you’re not there, all he talks about is you.”

Zhangjing nods numbly.

“And…” Linong hesitates, as if to decide once and for all he’s going to say it. But then, he sighs, and looks directly into Zhangjing’s eyes. “Let’s say that you’ve always been so precious to him. There was this one time back at SM when this guy-- I don’t remember his name-- but he was bullying you for something you said to him. He just pushed you around a bit, and I don’t even think you realized how hostile he was being, but he was telling his friends afterwards that they were going to beat you up some time soon.”

Zhangjing feels his blood run cold.

“But they never got to doing it, and you probably haven’t heard of this before now, because Yanjun got to them first.” Linong stops and looks at him; Zhangjing’s mouth unconsciously slides open. “He caught them one day after training. Beat them up, broke the arm of the guy who originally proposed hurting you. Made sure that they were out for training for a long time and made sure that they wouldn’t hurt you.” He pauses. “SM did something to the guy with the broken arm; you know how they are with agents who won’t recover.”

Zhangjing’s heart stops. Yanjun? Basically killing people for him even back then?

“If you’re wondering why…” Linong continues on carefully when Zhangjing doesn’t say anything. “You’ve always been his sun-- hell, you’re my sun too-- with how happy and cheerful you are. You know, before you came, there didn’t seem to be anything more to life than just sex and killing people. I felt that way at least, but I know that Yanjun feels it too. He still feels it, I’m sure of that, but you make it better.”

“...me?” he stutters out.

“Yeah, you make both of us see the better parts in life. You make us happy. You for sure make him happy.” Linong looks at him one more time, and more tenderly, he says, “You make him think that there’s a better future out there for him.”

Zhangjing stares back, eyes looking at Linong’s soft gaze but his heart somewhere else. He thinks it's back in Yanjun’s hands, wherever he is, beating hard and erratic and not sure what to do. Zhangjing feels that way, at least, like he’s fallen backwards into a pit of softness and there’s nothing else he knows he can do. He doesn’t know what to think, he doesn’t know if he even wants to risk thinking.

His heart must be going crazy. If Yanjun could realize that it’s barely hanging from his fingertips, he could probably see how hard it’s thumping, and at the same time, he’d see how much he makes Zhangjing feel, how important he really is for him. 

If he’d open his mouth, maybe, he’d taste the bitterness around it as well.

Yanjun liked the good, kind, happy version of him. He thinks that that version of Zhangjing is the true him, that it’s the one that means happier days and the beautiful details of life he’d sworn to live by before.

He doesn’t think he’s that person anymore, but he doesn’t want to lose Yanjun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> grammer is kind of bad but i promise ill change it
> 
> please talk to me on curious cat @ramenree  
> lets talk about prompts and fic ideas or anything u want cuz im bored all the time and i love all of ur comments so much.
> 
> stay safe, and wash your hands kids!


	70. Zeren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this took a long time, but uni results came out and i was so hyped that i couldn't write! ya girl's going to her top uni! 
> 
> enjoy a little plotless but adorable yanren!

Yanchen hissed as his wheelchair drove over a bump in the ground.

“Fuck me,” he swore loudly, so loud that Zeren had to clap his hand across his mouth. Yanchen responded quickly by licking the palm of his hand.

Zeren yanked his hand back in disgust. “What the hell. Don’t fucking lick me.” He continued to wheel Yanchen along the path, taking more care to steer away from the larger rocks, though it was hard to avoid the smaller pebbles.

“You love my tongue,” Yanchen replied crudely, then before Zeren could respond, he followed up by twisting his head around and smirking. “When we were making out-”

“Shut up.” Zeren clapped his hand over his mouth again. “You talk any louder and Mubo will know I took you out early.”

Yanchen kissed his hand this time, grabbing it so that Zeren couldn’t wench it away. “What, Mubo would be angrier at you than at me. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t be able to take you out ever again.” He drove the wheelchair over another small bump, sending Yanchen into another round of feverish swearing.

“Fucking avoid the rocks!”

“Do you see this place?” Zeren pointed at the rocky path, the rocky plains, and in general, all the rocks around them. “If you can avoid them, I’ll apologize to you.”

“Why did we even move bases here,” Yanchen grumbled. “I wish Yanjun and Nong and Zhangjing got a better place than in the middle of fucking nowhere with rocks as friends.”

Zeren glanced at the mansion behind them. They had moved in yesterday, taking only some of the essentials and leaving the rest behind at the old base. It had only taken one trip, thankfully, since Xukun had ordered that no one bring too much stuff since they were going to set up at the new base anyways. Zeren and the rest of Zhengting’s little group, having arrived at the Retributation base with close to nothing, didn’t have so much of a hard time packing. On the other hand though, this was a problem for people who needed to carry more equipment, such as the techies and the medics.

Zeren smiled at the thought of Wenjun trying to placate another fight between Mubo and Qin Fen over what to take and what not to take, then smiled wider when he remembered how Yanchen had tried to muffle his laugher behind his arm, failed miserably, then tugged Zeren down to him when he had seen Zeren laughing at him.

“Yanjun and them had to find the least occupied, the most abandoned area.” He reached down and ruffled Yanchen’s hair. “This was the best place considering how soon we wanted to get out of the old base.”

“Don’t call it the old base, it makes it sound like we’re abandoning it.”

“Aren’t we kind of? It’s not safe to stay there now that Byun Baekhyun and his team know that we’re staying there.”

“Maybe, but I don’t like thinking of it that way.” Yanchen put his hand out and Zeren stopped pushing his wheelchair along. He straightened and looked around, peering at the grass and dirt around him as well as the smaller mansion behind him. “The ‘old base’ was the most home I’ve ever gotten. I want to go back to it someday.”

Zeren crouched down to his level, kneeling in front of Yanchen’s pretty, unusually serious face. “I’m sure you will. This is just a backup, right? And this can be your home too if we stay here long enough.”

Yanchen pouted. “Yeah, but it won’t be the same. That place is my home, Zeren. I can feel it inside of me. Do you kind of get it?”

Zeren paused, Yanchen peering curiously down at him. As Yanchen ran his fingers through his hair, he let his mind drift to all the places he might think was home for him: that first corner of that alleyway he shared with Quanzhe, that dorm room at SM, the mattress at that gas station, the bunk in the old base. None of them felt right the way Yanchen said it would. Then, it hit him.

“To be honest, I think my home is wherever Zhengting is,” he confessed. “I don’t think any of the places I’ve physically lived in felt that right, but I do know that wherever Zhengting goes, I’ll go too.”

He blushed as he said this, feeling incredibly cheesy. Zhengting would weep if he could hear him now, though Justin and Quanzhe and, once, Chengcheng, would never let him hear the end of it. 

Yanchen tucked a hand under his chin and brought his face up to meet his own sparkling eyes. “No, I think you’re perfectly valid. I shouldn’t have even asked. Zhengting is everything to you guys, I didn’t really think about that.” He grinned his cat-like smile. “Though, I will say, it’s a little cheesy.”

Zeren opened his mouth to protest something along the lines that Yanchen was being sappy with his idealized old Retributation base too, but was cut off conveniently by Yanchen pressing a quick kiss to his lips. He kissed back, a little confused, a little mesmerized by how easily Yanchen could make him weak with just his mouth on his.

Yanchen pulled away, chuckling. “See, you don’t hate my tongue as much as you say you do. Can we keep going now? I want to see Xiao Gui and Jeffrey before Mubo notices I’m gone.”

If the kiss was Yanchen’s way to get Zeren moving, it certainly worked. Zeren staggered up, still dazed, and began pushing him along the path again to the back of the house, where the techies were currently set up. They had to take the outside path in order to avoid too many people inside who could tell the medics they were sneaking out, though in Zeren’s opinion, Xiao Gui and Jeffrey could do the same as well. Yanchen had been consistent though, and Zeren was too weak to argue. Besides, he enjoyed the private moment with his… boyfriend?

“Why do you even want to see them?” Zeren grumbled, shoving Yanchen up the ramp to the sliding doors at the back. “You could just ask them to come see you in the medical wing instead of letting me push you around.”

“But they wouldn’t be working!” Yanchen cried childishly. “I want to see them working again. You know, check up on them like the good leader of the Retributation I am.”

“You could wait a week more and then go by yourself when you’re almost healed completely.”

“Yeah but I would miss them trying to get that plane for Xukun’s mission.” He chuckled. “Holy fuck, Xukun wants a plane. He’s fucking crazy.”

“Don’t lie,” Zeren countered. “You want a plane more than Xukun wants one.”

“Mmm… maybe you’re right.” Yanchen reached out when they were at the doors and rapped on it impatiently. “Xiao Gui! Jeffrey! It’s Yanchen and Zeren!”

“That’s not going to make them let you in,” Zeren scolded. “We just increased security; they’re not going to open the door just because you say you're someone.”

“Fair, but they’ll open when I say this.” He put his hands to his mouth and yelled at the top of his lungs. “Xiao Gui is a fucking bottom!”

A couple of moments. 

Then the door slid open.

“What the fuck Yanchen!?” Xiao Gui looked furiously at the laughing man in the wheelchair, then glaring at Zeren as if to berate him for bringing him there. “Don’t fucking yell that for everyone to hear!”

“So you do admit it.” Yanchen wheezed with laughter. “I was just joking, but I’m glad to hear that they hold some truth. I should ask Xingjie or Ruibin about that.”

“Just fucking come in, Yanchen. You’re going to let all the dust in.” Xiao Gui stepped aside, and Zeren wheeled Yanchen into the room. 

In what had used to be a grand study room was now cluttered full of computers and whirring devices, scattered with papers and stacks of books on codes and programming, and stacked with random boxes of wires and whatever else. Zeren immediately saw Jeffrey typing away on a laptop on a red couch pushed up against a wall, though he hardly bat an eye as they came in. 

“Why aren’t you being a good patient in the new medical wing? You’re the first patient of this new house!” Xiao Gui pushed aside a couple of boxes for a piece of ground Zeren could wheel Yanchen into comfortably.

“Am I not allowed to explore our new place?” Yanchen countered. “I haven’t visited you guys in a while.”

“You talk like that any more and I’ll tell Mubo right now that his patients are running wild.”

“You do that and I’ll attack you after I’ve healed up.”

Xiao Gui grinned. “Xingjie would kill you if you actually broke my legs.”

“I suppose,” Yanchen sighed, leaning on one of his hands. “You’re reserved for him to kill, unfortunately.”

From the other side of the room, Jeffrey growled, “Will you two be quiet? I’m trying to get into something here.”

Xiao Gui dropped his voice. “He’s getting that plane Xukun was asking about. We made a lot of progress last night trying to get one without any detection, so we’ll probably finish today. Jeffrey’s going back right now and covering up any small tracks we might have left hacking into the system.”

Zeren blinked. Jeffrey was as focused as ever on his work, though it seemed like he was less friendly than the man usually was, as well as more aggressive. He typed angrily at his keyboard, not paying attention to them at all. “I see that it’s a stressful job.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad.” Xiao Gui scratched the back of his head. “A bit more work now that SM is on our tails, but just about the same amount of precaution we usually take.”

“Then why-”

“Jeffrey’s a little stressed these days, that’s all. I think Ziyi getting injured badly and the moving really took a toll on him.”

Yanchen laced his fingers through Zeren’s and frowned. “It’s funny, since Ziyi hasn’t been the cheeriest either. Jeffrey hasn’t been visiting him anymore, huh?”

Xiao Gui glanced at the solemn man still typing away at his laptop. “I guess. That’s between them to work out though. Jeffrey’s just stressed, and Ziyi getting injured that badly was bad for him. I just leave him alone; he can work things out for himself.”

Zeren thought about visiting Yanchen and Ziyi in the hospital wing, how Yanchen’s eyes would light up when he stepped in. Ziyi’s eyes never did for him, which he thought was very reasonable, but then again, they didn’t seem to light up for anyone the way Yanchen’s did. He was happier, yes, when Zhengting or Xukun or Xingjie came in, and he was delighted when Justin woke up. But he was never cheery, always a little more solemn, and Zeren saw him looking at the door more than once, seemingly hoping for someone else to walk in. Maybe it was Jeffrey. 

He looked at the man sitting on the couch. His hair was messy and his glasses a little smudged where they sat on the bridge of his nose. Zeren wondered why shy, quiet, gentle Jeffrey wasn’t visiting Ziyi anymore; vaguely, he recalls the man even holding Ziyi’s hand when he had gotten surgery on his stomach for the stab wound.

“Is Ziyi going to be in charge when Xukun and them are gone?” Xiao Gui suddenly asked, lazily sitting down on a box.

Before Yanchen could say anything, Jeffrey snapped out loudly, “No. Of course not. He’s so injured, it’s going to have to be Xingjie.”

Zeren snapped his head towards him again, only to find him focused back on his laptop again. However, he tapped at his keyboard harder, and a new crease was between his eyes. Zeren swallowed nervously. It was like when fussy, doting Zhengting got angry.

Yanchen seemed to feel the same way, eyes widening a bit before looking back at a solemn Xiao Gui and swallowing visibly. “Yeah, like he said. Ziyi is going to be too injured to be official head, and I’ll still need to heal a bit to help out effectively. Xingjie is going to be the best bet.”

“Mmm, good to hear that you’ll all be healing up.” Xiao Gui stood, almost knocking over the box of wires. “Do you want me to set up something more comfy? I have to get back to work soon, but you’re very welcome to stay and chat and watch.”

Yanchen looked like he wanted to accept, so Zeren cut in hastily with a “No thanks. We’d want to, but I have to get Yanchen back to the medical wing before the medics find out he’s gone and skin me alive.”

Xiao Gui grinned at Yanchen’s crestfallen expression. “Man, you and Zeren have gotten together for how long? A month? A few weeks? You’re already listening to everything he wants you to do.”

“What can I say?” Yanchen sniffed as Zeren felt his face heat up. “He’s so cute I can’t seem to say no to him.”

“That’s enough, we’re going.” Zeren roughly yanked Yanchen out of the corner and made his way back to the door. “Thanks for letting us in, Xiao Gui, Jeffrey. I hope you’re successful with getting that plane.”

Xiao Gui waved as they left, though Jeffrey hardly moved from where he was sitting.

***

The way back was quiet. Or, rather, Yanchen was more quiet than usual. Zeren let him be, but seeing his eyebrows furrow as they wheeled far enough away, he stopped and pressed his chin to the top of his head, wrapping his arms around his neck. “What are you thinking about?”

“Jeffrey.” Yanchen said idly, hands going up to hold Zeren’s arms. “He seems pretty stressed-- more than usual Jeffrey-level stress.”

“That’s what I was thinking. I didn’t know him too well back at SM, but I remember him being always super composed. Has he been this stressed, ever?”

“No.” Yanchen brushed his fingers under Zeren’s sweater, a pleasant heat emitting from the place his thumbs touched Zerens skin. “I’m trying to figure out why.”

“Xiao Gui said it was because Ziyi got hurt, but I’m not sure why he would be angry about that to the point of not visiting him.”

“Me too.” Yanchen frowned. “It’s just not something I think Jeffrey would make a big deal out of.”

“Maybe there’s more to it,” Zeren offered. “Maybe him and Ziyi had an argument.”

“Or a falling out.” Yanchen agreed with a nod. “I should ask Ziyi about it, but I don’t know how to bring it up without making it awkward. Ziyi hasn’t always been the one to talk about his feelings.”

“We can ask. He won’t mind it if he can tell you’re trying to help.”

“I’m not the best at talking people through their relationships either though. I’ve never been one for that.”

“You have me, don’t you? You had to confess to me to do that.” Zeren pulls Yanchen in tighter.

Yanchen chuckles slowly. “I guess, as long as you’re okay with being mine.”

“You fucking sap,” Zeren laughed but presses his mouth to Yanchen’s hair. “And you say your not good at talking about relationships.”

“I’m really not. Remember that guy we met on the night Byun Baekhyun invaded our base?” Yanchen’s voice takes on a more delicate tone, prompting Zeren to straighten up. “Zhou Rui. He was close to me and Xingjie, and I should have made sure he was okay when we left.”

“You’ve never really talked about him.”

“That’s my fault.” Yanchen sighed through his nose. “Back at SM, he wasn’t that good, but me and Xingjie took him under our wing. To be fair, I didn’t really think much of him, since there was Zhengting and them, and I was arrogant enough to not care. Xingjie did though, and they were pretty close.”

He pulled Zeren in tighter. “I didn’t even think of bringing him along when we left, and Xingjie didn’t mention him either. I guess I’m confused now that I think about it, since Xingjie was actually close with him and it doesn’t make sense that he didn’t want to bring him along, but that doesn’t excuse me for not asking about what happened.” He sighed again. “I deserve all of the animosity he showed me that night. I should have been a better friend.”

Zeren hummed. “Maybe.”

Yanchen looked up at him in surprise. “I thought you would react much more strongly, like, be super mad at me or try to defend me a lot.”

“I mean.” Zeren shifted his head so that it was in the crook of Yanchen’s shoulder. “I don’t know what happened, and you don’t either, so I don’t think you should condemn yourself yet. At the same time, you probably should have said more.”

“You think so too?”

“Yeah, but it’s okay. Talk to Xingjie about this more. Then talk to Ziyi about Jeffrey. You can be a better friend now.”

Yanchen tugged him down, eyes twinkling. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“Nothing.” Zeren let Yanchen press his nose into his cheek. “Being you.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave some comments down below n in my curious cat (@/ramenree)! id love to chat with you guys since quarantine is locking me in haha
> 
> thanks for sticking with me :)


	71. Xukun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u guys leave the best comments omg. im so soft after reading them. pls stay safe during this time! wash ur hands!
> 
> warning: sucky writing again im sorry :<

Xukun hasn’t flown a plane, or frankly, flown in a plane for over a year now.

The last time he was actually flying above the ground was last year, when they had to wipe out the leader of a group who found out their location and threatened to leak it to SM. He went with Ziyi and Yanchen then, the three of them taking turns steering the helicopter they hacked for the week over the desert and cities below until they reached the guy’s base in the literal middle of nowhere. And even then, he wasn’t amazing at it, having not touched a plane ever since he’d left SM. All three of them had to rely on extreme muscle memory to even get it lifted up above the ground, and the techies had to simplify a lot of the controls so that they wouldn’t forget what button was for what.

That was the biggest issue with the Retributation, Xukun had thought back then. They didn’t have anyone who was strictly trained to maneuver a plane. Only himself, Ziyi, Xingjie, Yanchen, and Zhengting had ever been taught how outside of the specific department for flying fighter jets and planes at SM, and when they had all left, they didn’t ask anyone to come with them.

It was fine. They landed it fairly safely, albeit after a half hour of terror, where none of them could figure how to lower the damn thing. Xukun thinks that the pleasure of slitting their targets throat later on that week was much more satisfying than flying high above the sky, and has tried to avoid it if possible.

However, he seemed to have gone back on his word, because he’s flying right now, in a small plane, hundreds of meters above the ground, and with a very distracting and very talkative co-pilot by his side.

“Xukun!” Zhengting squeals, pressing his face against the window on his side. “We’re in a cloud!”

Xukun ignores him, concentrating most of his effort on making sure the plane doesn’t crash down into the desert below.

“Kun,” Zhengting tries again. “We almost never fly and you’re not even appreciating how we’re literally in the sky!”

Zhengting looks extremely pretty out of the corner of his eye, his soft brown hair, black at the roots, curling over his brow and a bright white smile curving up at the corners of his mouth. His eyebrows are furrowed though, and his expression keeps changing from pouting to grinning, as if he’s trying to keep a solemn face but is failing miserably.

It’s extremely distracting, to say the least. Zhengting like this makes his heart go haywire. However, he’s glad that the old Zhengting is back, at least in this aspect; he’s not treating him coldly anymore. They can even be friends now.

“You’re distracting your pilot,” Xukun grits out half-heartedly. “What if I crashed this plane because of you trying to get me to look at a bird?”

“I wanted you to look at the clouds.”

Xukun rolls his eyes, and Zhengting pouts. “Hey, you’re not the only one who knows how to work a plane here. You start crashing this plane, and I’ll just knock you out and fly it myself.”

“How come you can’t just fly it now? I wanna take a break,” he whines in return.

Zhengting grins. “Because I wanna look at the clouds. And shut up, you don’t need a break yet. I literally just got off like half an hour ago.”

“You’re better at it anyways,” Xukun grumbles as the monitor ahead of him begins to beep, signalling him to begin veering towards the left. He follows it, beginning to steer the plane in the right direction.

It feels right, being here with Zhengting. The man hums, content, as he leans his head against his window, already forgetting to keep a lookout for any obstacles or landmarks like Xukun had reminded him to do just minutes before. It doesn’t matter though, because Xukun feels warm, and, for some reason, safe, even if he is hundreds of feet above the ground. A beam of sunlight is shining on his lap, and the rest of the light is on Zhengting’s hair, and it’s so pretty and so comforting that he just feels  _ right _ .

It’s almost surprising, he thinks. Just half a year ago, even the thought of Zhengting would have made his heart feel like it was going to crack all over again. No, just a few months ago, he would have felt the same. He would have went at his punching bag until Ziyi found him and allowed him to be pinned to his bed, seeking only relief until the memory of Zhengting’s mouth was wiped from his skin. But now, he’s steering a plane with him, peaceful and okay with everything, not lovers, perhaps not friends, but comfortable, and it’s good.

They still work so well together, he and Zhengting. Planning out this mission without him would have been possible, yes, but nowhere as smooth or detailed as it is now with Zhengting’s suggestions and thoughts fleshing out the blurrier parts. It was the same, maybe, even when they had met again for the first time and went on a mission together, that time they raided that mansion to rescue Zhangjing and him and Zhengting fought together for the first time in years. They moved together, not forgetting how they had fit together so perfectly, but at the same time, not forgetting how much it hurt to do so.

This is better. Xukun can look at Zhengting and talk to him, willing to think of things that didn’t all trace back to that one night in the SM garage, with the three scared kids shoved into the car Zhengting already had one foot on to get away. He didn’t have to wonder why Zhengting didn’t take him with him, didn’t have to apologize for giving Chengcheng and Justin over to JYP, didn’t have to fight him and bruise him in his haze of suppressed anger, misunderstandings, and want.

In the back of the plane, somewhere, Yanjun and Zhangjing are bickering about something in a book they had read. Zhangjing’s voice is high, almost hysterical, cutting over Yanjun’s teasing jeer. In between the arguing, he can hear Linong and Wenjun’s laughter mingled in, a welcome surprise from the two ordinarily quiet boys. 

“They’re adorable,” Zhengting preens, turning back to smile at the evidently soft scene. “I haven’t seen Nongnong or even Wenjun this happy in so long.”

“Yes you have,” Xukun reminds him. “They were crying with laughter when we saw them joking around with Justin, remember?”

Zhengting beams. “That’s not a fair comparison,” he whines, “Everyone was happy when Justin woke up.”

“So?”

“So that’s an unfair advantage. It would be ridiculous to even compare how happy they are now to how happy when Justin woke up after how many weeks of being in a coma?”

“Fair.” It’s still morning, the sun still low enough to shed an orange strip of light across the horizon, though the sky above them is blue already. The colours mesh together, reflected in Zhengting’s eyes. “Everyone cried.”

“Of happiness,” Zhengting finished for him, then immediately, his face turned somber. “I hope. Chengcheng seems like he’s still adamant on avoiding Justin though.”

Xukun studies him closely out of the corner of his vision, seeing his just-moments-ago bright face suddenly turned sad and concerned. “Have you asked him? Whenever I went to see Justin, the boy asks me about Chengcheng and complains about him not coming to see him, and even though it was funny at first, towards the end, it seemed more strained.”

Zhengting sighs. “We haven’t talked yet. He seems just as against talking to me as he is to talking to Justin. Actually, he hasn't been talking to anyone, really. He just trains all day or goes on some small assignment alone.”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah.” He looks out the window at the multicoloured sky. “I thought that I’d give him a bit more space and talk to him after we’re done this mission, since he was the one who took Justin being in a coma the hardest, and he was the one who found him waking up. He still blames himself too, for what happened, even though I keep telling him the opposite.” A pause. “He says that he understands, but I know he doesn’t yet. I think he’s going to need a serious talk with Justin for him to figure it out.”

“But he’s not even trying to see Justin right now,” Xukun can’t help but supply. 

“No.” There’s another pause, where Zhengting seems to be musing over this fact, face somber. 

Perhaps against his better judgement, Xukun reaches a hand over and lays it on Zhengting’s thigh. The man’s head shoots up, mouth and eyes open.

Xukun swallows. “Don’t worry about them, they’re young and still growing up. Let them work out what’s happened between them. The more we meddle in their lives, the less effect it’s going to have. Relax, Zhengting. Look at how pretty the sky is.”

He tacks the last part on hastily, wanting to change the subject. However, though Zhengting still looks hesitant, it seems to work. Zhengting turns his attention back to the sky, peering at the beautiful mess of colours outside.

“It really is pretty, isn’t it?” He muses, leaning his face on his hands.

“Yeah.” A repressed memory, warm and comforting, comes bubbling up to the surface. Before he can stop himself, it bursts out of his mouth. “You still love watching the sunrise, right?”

Zhengting’s head snaps back, and for a few, terrifying seconds, Xukun is afraid that he’s said the wrong thing. That bringing it up again wasn’t a good choice for either of them. But before he can say something to hopefully patch it up, perhaps rub it off as a joke or a harmless comment, Zhengting’s face softens. “Yes. I still love it.”

He pauses, then speaks again, lower. “Do you still remember that time we climbed out onto the SM roof and watched the sunrise?”

Of course he does. It’s what made him comment on the sun in the first place. “Yeah, that time after our first major mission?”

It wasn’t the only time they had gone out onto the roof, but it was the first time, and in Xukun’s mind, the most memorable.

“Mhm. The first  _ actual _ mission SM wanted us to go on, and not the random drug raids we did for training.”

Zhengting remembers it too, it seems.

“We did so well for our first legitimate mission.” Fleetingly, Xukun allows himself a glance at Zhengting, who’s smiling.

“We did, and afterwards, to celebrate, we stole food from the SM kitchen and I told you that we should go to the roof.”

“I think I thought that it was a stupid idea.” He did. Xukun remembers distinctly scoffing at Zhengting’s idea, though he also remembers giving in immediately when the boy pouted at him.

Zhengting seems to agree with this. “But you gave in! You even argued with me when I wanted to go to the roof area above the dorms!”

“You couldn’t even see the sky well from there!” Xukun argues, feeling attacked. “There were so many watchtowers and lights around there, we would have spent most of our time just hiding!”

“And the roof above the training center was better?”

“Yeah, it was,” he growls, unable to keep the sullenness from creeping into his voice. “Way less guards and cameras, way less lights. Totally worth the sneaking from our dorms to the center.”

“We almost got caught.” Zhengting sniffed, though his face softens once again. “You’re right though, the sky was so beautiful from there when the sun did come up. Even worth the mini heart attack I had when I realized that we had to be back at the dorms in time for roll-call.”

Xukun laughs, though his mind is in truth a million miles away. He doesn’t mention what specifically happened on the roof, though he can tell by the look he exchanges with Zhengting that he remembers it as well. 

They had crept onto the roof, grabbing each others hands to hoist each other over the tiles, tangling together so keep warm in the cold, dark night. Laughing and talking, celebrating the mission they had completed, hands always intertwined.

And when the sun had actually came up, Zhengting had looked out at the red peaking over the horizon, eyes twinkling and mouth smiling, looking more beautiful than Xukun had ever thought was possible. Zhengting had stared at the sun, babbling about how beautiful it all was, but Xukun was looking at him.

When he finally realized that Xukun wasn’t talking, he had stopped, turned to look at Xukun, his smile in his mouth but also in his eyes, his hair orange and red under the sun. And Xukun had looked at him, his heart hammering in his chest, and he had leaned forward and Zhengting had mirrored him until they both met somewhere in the middle.

It wasn’t the first time he’d kissed Zhengting, but it was one of the most memorable times.

They had clung to each other, clumsily, passionately, with all of that young affection Xukun remembers with a warm feeling in his heart. He hadn’t known then, what he and Zhengting would become. He hadn’t thought about his future, his life, his work, but had only known Zhengting, Zhengting, and the taste and feeling of him on him. They kissed, thinking that it was something incredible, though looking back Xukun knows that it was the most innocent feeling he could have. He didn’t know that Zhengting was going to break his heart. He didn’t know that Zhengting was going to leave. He didn’t know that he was going to hurt for years, escape, form the Retributation, or ever move on. He didn’t know that Zhengting was going to come back, years later, with the same stars in his eyes but a different person, and reopen old wounds Xukun wasn’t sure he was ready to explain yet.

But it didn’t matter back then. They were just Xukun and Zhengting, two boys, lost, stubbornly refusing the other what they wanted the most, perhaps because they didn’t understand it yet then. Xukun thinks that he still doesn’t know what he wants. 

He does know, however, is that Zhengting has always looked beautiful under sunrises, that he will always look and taste like that morning on the roof, where he could forget everything and just focus on how his mouth would feel against his own. 

Zhengting still looks just as beautiful as he did back then, maybe even more. He’s smiling at Xukun that shows that he knows what Xukun is thinking, so warmly and so prettily.

Then, almost magically, the moment is broken, Zhengting’s tinkling laugh directed at his thigh. “Are you going to take your hand off my leg?”

He startles, yanking his hand away. “Fuck.”

Zhengting laughs again, and though Xukun is sullen, his heart is still on that rooftop, and it’s just as warm and free as he remembers it being.

Zhengting continues on then, talking about the sky and something about birds he had read about once, the ones who could actually fly as high as their plane was. Xukun smiles and contributes, the banter flowing between them light and fun.

It feels so comfortable.

But as Zhengting begins to prattle off about an instance when Justin and Chengcheng had tried to catch a bird to scare Xinchun with, Xukun sees in the mirror ahead of him a long figure watching them.

Wenjun stares at them almost wistfully. His mouth is smiling, half-open, like he wants to interrupt and ask something. But he doesn’t, his eyes crinkling to smile as well. It would be nothing more, but Xukun can tell that his eyes are on Zhengting, and Zhengting only, as the man continues on with his storytelling.

Xukun looks harder, and he sees the sadness, tinged in his expression even with how truly happy he looks. 

Xukun thinks about Zhengting telling him about how much he loved the boy, and how much the boy loved him back. As brothers, as support, as someone to lean on.

He wonders, staring at him looking so softly yet so wistfully at him and Zhengting’s private moment, if Bi Wenjun loves him more than he’s letting on to Zhengting.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment about how u thought it was! i love talking to u guys, so come chat in the comments or on my curious cat!


	72. Linong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was one of the hardest chapters to write, so pls enjoy :)

“I’d like a suite for the Lagoon Villa, please.” Yanjun’s voice was like velvet when he spoke, his dimples pooling around his mouth. From a few spots behind in the line for the front desk, Linong smiled to himself.

Yanjun really was a people-pleaser, he thought to himself. Even in a hotel spot like this one, expensive and luxurious enough to be solely reserved for the rich, powerful, and beautiful, he could still make the receptionist blush, pink spreading from her neck to her cheeks, so obvious Linong could see it from a meter away.

Zhangjing seemed to think so as well. “Look at him,” he muttered in his earpiece, “Charming up the poor receptionist when he’ll be leaving a huge mess in this villa in less than a week's time.”

He laughed internally, but kept a neutral face at Zhangjing’s words; after all, it was his job to secure the other room at this particular villa. It wouldn't do to be singled out so early for laughing randomly at the hotel front desk. 

Watching Yanjun slide a glossy black credit card across the counter, he leaned back against his suitcase and thought idly of what the others were doing. Zhangjing was with Xukun, probably, lounging in a safe vehicle somewhere near wherever Zhengting and Wenjun dropped them off. Zhengting himself had probably dumped the plane in a safehouse somewhere, where he could pose as a wealthy heir who had a penchant to fly his ward-- Wenjun-- around. They were probably all near the villa itself by now, keeping an eye on Linong and Yanjun as they executed the first part of the mission.

“Next, please.” Linong looked up to see that one of the receptionist’s desks was empty and that he was first in line. Straightening his suit lapels, he walked forward to take the spot, dragging his suitcase behind him.

The man at the desk didn’t talk much when Linong asked for a suite in the Lagoon Villa, just as Yanjun had. He asked for ID, and when Linong slid it over, he stared at it hard for a few seconds before handing it back to Linong. 

A feeling of unease creeped up behind him. Had the receptionist looked too closely at his ID and deemed it a fake? It couldn’t be. Zhangjing was way too good at making them. He didn’t think that his face was that noticeable either; most of the people who could remember his face were dead, he thought. 

Aiming to make conversation, he pulled off his spectacles and began polishing them with his jacket. Without looking up, he asked nonchalantly, “A lot of business?”

The man allowed a gruff smile. “Not bad. It’s a good time to be on vacation.”

“I’ll bet. Say, where could I get dinner here?” He slipped his glasses back on his face, smiling as casually as he could. At times like these, he needed the most professional, mature smile to offset his more innocent appearance. It was one of his bigger struggles, trying to seem older and more mature; SM trained him specifically for seduction with his boyish looks, and while he could pull off the cute escort look perfectly, it was nowhere as versatile as Yanjun’s strikingly handsome, angled face. 

The man studied him for a few more moments, during which Linong was almost ready to double tap on the signalling device on his wrist, a motion that would tell Zhangjing that he was in risk of being found out. However, before he could do so, he smiled, more casually, more laid-back, and began rummaging in his desk. He emerged again with a small pamphlet, which he handed to Linong, along with his room card and accompanying documents.

“There’s a wonderful restaurant on the second floor. Open twenty-four hours of the day, though dinner is a little more expensive. Drinks are served around the clock.” He smiled wider. “The steak tonight is exceptional; to my knowledge, they’re serving French cuisine tonight.”

Linong hummed. “Then I’ll be making my way there tonight.” He tucked his ID and room card into his wallet and put his hand back on his suitcase handle. “Thank you.”

The receptionist waved as he left before gesturing for the next guest. 

Linong let out a small breath. So far, no one seemed to have noticed him. He snuck a quick glance around the room and saw that Yanjun was nowhere to be found.

“He’s making his way to his room already,” Zhangjing muttered in his ear. “You should too. Don’t raise any suspicion.”

Linong obliged, pulling his suitcase behind him as he made his way to the villa. Looking at the map the receptionist had handed him, the Lagoon Villa was situated behind the main hotel: a series of smaller rooms lining the blue waters. He made his way to his specific room, hoping that Zhangjing had succeeded in guaranteeing that his and Yanjun’s would be neighbours.

He wasn’t surprised. 

He almost reached for his gun when he opened the door to his room, startled by the presence of another person already lying on the bed. However, before he could do so, Zhangjing’s bright voice rang out in the armchair to his left.

“Hey Nong!” Zhangjing said, shutting off the device that was linked to his earpiece. “Yanjun got here earlier than you did, and let us in.”

“How’d you get in here?” Linong wondered, setting his suitcase down. Upon closer inspection, he could see that the man on the bed was a very unimpressed looking Lin Yanjun, lying on his side to peer at Zhangjing and Linong carefully.

Zhangjing rolled his eyes. “You don’t think that I would already have copies of the room key before coming here? Surprise: room keys are easy to duplicate, almost as easy as manipulating the flimsy hotel booking system to ensure that we would get these rooms specifically.”

He should have expected. “So me and Yanjun are just here to set up an illusion.”

Zhangjing hardly batted an eye as Linong flopped back into another armchair. “Of course.” He set his devices to a side, one hand gesturing to his left. “If you’re wondering, Xukun, Zhengting, and Wenjun are taking the other room. I know Yanjun booked it… but no one should figure it out anyways and…” He trailed off hesitatingly.

“...It should be fine.” Linong reassured him, watching Zhangjing’s face relax. He didn’t need to explain. Zhangjing felt safer when he was with Yanjun and Linong. 

“Right.” Zhangjing stood up and walked to the bed, sitting down and making the mattress sink down. “To my knowledge, Byun should be here any day now. He usually books the largest villa here, which is why we’re staying in the rooms almost adjacent to it.”

“So what do we do now?” Linong wondered if he should change. The suit was a little too warm for a tropical resort like this one.

“We wait.” Zhangjing answered casually, already pulling out a book from Yanjun’s suitcase. “It’s a tropical villa, Linong. You should have some fun.”

“Fun?” Linong echoed. 

“Yes, fun.” Zhangjing leaned back against the pillows, forcing Yanjun to relocate to the other side of the bed. Then, thinking better of it, Zhanging put the book down and fixed him with a warmer look. “When was the last time you relaxed, Linong?” A pause, then he added, “Actual fun. Not just resting.”

Linong thought for a moment. “We fight for fun in the training centers every once in a while. We did it the night before we left.”

Even Yanjun looked unimpressed with him.

“Okay.” Linong sighed. “I talk to Wenjun sometimes, then? I mean, I usually help him with whatever he’s doing at the time, but it’s not like we only talk about work?” His voice lifted at the end in a question; Linong couldn’t even hide his own disappointment with himself.

Really, when was the last time he thought about anything other than work? Or really, when was the last time he did anything just for fun, not related to his job? Looking into Zhangjing’s gentler eyes now, pooled with sympathy, Linong winced. 

Behind him, Yanjun looked uncomfortable as well, so much, Linong almost wanted to exclaim at Zhangjing to stop pressing this specific issue. Both him and Yanjun weren’t brought up to have fun; they were brought up to assume identities and infiltrate operations, not to relax. This was drilled into them early on at SM: while the techies and the assassins and the medics and the snipers all could do their own things, as long as it was within what SM permitted, but for them, the socialites, it was different. Having fun meant putting your guard down. Having fun meant letting information slip through. Having fun meant being found out. Having fun meant assuming your own identity. 

He was just a body to listen and to fuck, he was reminded from as early as he was twelve. He was nobody. Nobodies didn’t have fun.

Yanjun met his eyes. Linong could tell that he felt the same way.

Perhaps Zhangjing didn’t understand that part of their job, and Linong didn’t hold it against him. It’s not like SM explicitly told all of them what was to be expected out of the different departments. It was more drilled in, hammered into each agent’s brains with the years of harsh training and commentary. And if someone couldn’t catch on fast enough, they weren’t allowed to stick around.

Yanjun cleared his throat. “Linong, why don’t you go to the restaurant the receptionist was telling you about? You should ask the others if they’d want to go too. It wouldn’t hurt to check this place out if we’re going to be staying here to kill someone.” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

Zhangjing looked like he wanted to argue, but Yanjun put a hand on his back and he relented. “Yes, Nongnong. Why don’t you check the hotel out first?”

“Don’t you guys want to come?” Linong asked. “Zhangjing, the receptionist said that the food here was amazing.”

Zhangjing waved him off. “I’m exhausted, Nong. I had to do too much tech work today. I’ll just stay here and read.”

Unsurprisingly, Yanjun chimed in with a “Yeah. I’ll stay behind too. You go with the others.” Linong smiled. He wouldn’t leave Zhangjing alone.

“Fine.” He stood, brushing off his suit again. “I’ll change and go. I’ll try to bring some back too, if they’ll let me.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Zhangjing smiled warmly. “Enjoy yourself Linong. This place is beautiful.”

For some reason, what he said left a bad taste in his mouth.

He shook his head to dispel the thought. It wouldn’t hurt to have fun. It wasn’t like he was going to stay at a place like this ever again. 

He showered and changed into a more casual outfit, one that a businessman might wear for a night’s out. Making his way out the suite, his fingers lingered on the gun in the suit he just shed. This action too, left a bitter feeling inside of him.

He wouldn’t really be able to enjoy it; he was an agent working for an assassination group. He could be killed any second. This was no place to have fun.

***

It turned out, Xukun and Zhengting were tired from flying the plane all day.

They waved off Linong’s offer when he knocked on their door, citing that they wanted some time to relax and rest after the hours of maneuvering a machine through the air. Linong couldn’t object to that; they did look tired, though he suspected that they wanted time to catch up with each other privately too.

He wondered if Wenjun felt the same way. Though the man had given in and had agreed to accompany Linong to the restaurant, Linong caught him staring almost wistfully at the other pair, poring over something in a book, side by side on the bed. He remembered seeing him sneak a glance at them in the same way when they were on the plane, leaving his seat with Linong to creep up to the cockpit, just to stare at them for a few moments.

It made Linong ache to think about how Wenjun must have felt, seeing the man he loved grow closer again to the man  _ he _ onced loved.

However, Wenjun, as usual, was too selfless to show it. He sat across from him as soon as soon as they were ushered into a private dining room, face betraying none of the longing and sadness he reflected with Zhengting. 

“I’ll take a number five, please.” He said to the waiter. “But please don’t make it too spicy.”

The man nodded. “Will that be all?”

Wenjun shot a glance at Linong. “Did you want anything else?”

Linong shook his head. “Just what I ordered before.”

“Then that’s all.”

The waiter took the menus and exited the room, leaving Linong and Wenjun to sit and sip at the martinis they were served when they had first entered the restaurant.

Wenjun turned to face Linong, smiling gently. He was dressed formally for dinner, with a collared shirt and carefully styled hair. Linong could see now how he could have been the son of some pharmaceutical mogul: handsome, charming, and sweet.

_ And hollow _ , he reminded himself, thinking back to the sadness Wenjun had shown when he talked about his past.  _ Empty and fake _ .

“You know, I’ve eaten at a lot of restaurants like these before.” Wenjun clasped his martine between two fingers and swirled it so that the olive in it rolled around. He didn’t look at Linong. “But somehow, even with how delicious the food was or however esteemed the chef cooking at them, I didn’t miss the taste at all when I went with Zhengting.”

Linong hummed. “I’m not surprised. More expensive doesn’t mean more memorable.”

“Indeed.” Wenjun took a sip of his drink, then fixed his pretty eyes on him. “Have you eaten at places like these before?” A pause, then softer. “I haven’t talked to you in a while about… all of this.”

He hadn’t. After Zhangjing and Yanjun had returned to their dorm room, Linong hadn’t had a reason to have his nightly talks with Wenjun, so he didn’t try seeking him out again at night. They still chatted during the day when Linong visited the medical center, but he missed the soothing sound of Wenjun’s voice against the darkness of the night, the way his fingers patted his arm or blanket until he could be soothed into sleep.

“No,” he agreed. “Zhangjing and Yanjun are actively making sure I sleep first now, though to be honest, I don’t know if it’s working that well.” He took a sip of his own drink before Wenjun could inquire why. “And yes. I’ve eaten at places like these many, many times. The people I accompany seem to enjoy taking their escorts to fancy, gourmet dinners and spoiling them silly.”

Wenjun’s eyes twinkled. “What’s your opinion on them, then?”

“They’re fine.” Linong watched the oliver swirl in his glass. “I didn’t grow up eating meals like you did, so I think they’re quite good.”

A pause. Then Wenjun asked gently, “What kind of meals did you eat? You’ve never told me about your past before.”

Linong looked up. 

Wenjun was looking back, eyes soft, though they widened when they saw whatever impassive expression was reflected on Linong’s face. “Oh, Nong. If you’re uncomfortable about it you don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry, I--”

“No, no, it’s okay.” Linong waved his hand. “It’s not that interesting anyways. I was an orphan, so no parents and all that. Grew up in an orphanage, standard stuff, with little food and cold winters and the harsh nuns, right? Then, one day, they just had too many mouths to feed and they gave some of their boys to the SM recruiting agents that dropped by every few months.” He paused. “I was one of them.”

“You got brought to SM?”

“Yes.” Linong sipped at his drink again. “Because of my looks, they put me into the socialite department, where I met Yanjun. He was already sort of a legend there, so I didn’t think we would interact too much since I was a rookie. But, he apparently watched me during a deception training class and how I talked to the instructor afterwards, and thought that I was interesting enough for him to help out.”

“He probably thought you were adorable,” Wenjun joked.

Linong smiled. “Maybe, though it probably wasn’t the deciding factor. The first requirement socialites need is to be attractive, after all.”

“But you’re more than just that,” Wenjun insisted. “Have you ever asked Yanjun  _ why _ he specifically chose you to mentor and not anyone else?”

“He said it was because I was  _ nasty _ or something at the job. I was too perfect at it.”

Wenjun shook his head. “Yanjun isn’t that manipulative of a person, you know that.”

Linong paused to think. He  _ hadn’t _ thought too much about it over the years. At the time, he had taken Yanjun’s word for it, and since the man wasn’t one to give up his feelings so easily, Linong hadn’t asked again. 

“I’ll tell you why,” Wenjun murmured softly. Linong raised his head, meeting Wenjun’s handsome eyes and soft smile. “You have this aura, Linong, that you actually care. You’re tough and you’re deadly and smart, and I know that you’ve been through things no one would ever think of. You’re one of the most mature, experienced, weathered people on the planet.” He paused, then smiled again. “But something you can’t hide, at least from me and Yanjun, is how innocent you really are.”

Linong frowned. “What?”

He had heard the term many times. Innocence was what his instructors had told him was his biggest advantage. He looked young and naive, and people would put their guards down around him. It’s why so many men and women had approached him with a promise that they would ruin him for the night, not knowing how ruined Linong already was. 

“You’re weathered and you’ve been through shit, Linong, I know. But Nong, no one can deny how beautiful of a heart you have, and that’s what makes you really shine.” 

Linong looked into Wenjun’s eyes, tender with the truth reflected in them, and felt his heart thump against his ribcage. Where Wenjun was looking into his eyes, he felt a warmth spread into the rest of his body, soothing and gentle. It carried the same feeling that Linong had felt when Wenjun had soothed him to sleep. He recognized it as the feeling that he’d missed when he’d stopped seeing him at night, the one whose absence he felt so clearly and couldn’t fall asleep again without.

“You really think that?” Linong couldn’t help himself from asking.

Wenjun smiled wider. “I know that.”

After years and years of feeling empty and hollow and like nothing, Linong couldn’t stop the heat that gathered at the back of his eyes. Though he wasn’t sure if Wenjun was right-- he had killed and lied to too many for him to ever be as beautiful as Wenjun described--, it was the first time anyone had said anything like that to him. 

Did Wenjun really believe that he was still good deep down? He wondered. What did he see in Linong to think that?

Wenjun smiled at him, so beautifully that it hurt, and Linong felt the warmth rush over him, soothing him. And suddenly, he wanted to tell him so badly, of every emotion he’d felt over the years, so confusing and emptying and painful that it would take years to explain what it was like. He wanted to ask him to stay with him, to sooth him to sleep like before, to listen to him in a way that no one had done before, or perhaps, could do.

Linong opened his mouth, a lump in his throat, intended to thank him or say  _ something _ .

Then, he noticed it.

A slit in the door behind him, with a pair of eyes peeking in. 

A cold chill ran up his spine. It was so sudden and so cold it jarred him from the warm stupor he was in almost painfully.

He moved even before he was aware he was doing so.

He leapt across the table, ramming Wenjun out of the way, as he yanked open the door. The waiter from before was scurrying back like he had been burned, terror in his eyes as he stumbled to run. Linong was on him before he could take another step.

He dragged the man in before he could even speak, plastering his mouth shut and sliding the door shut back behind him. He grabbed for the blade hidden in his pants, only to see the waiter reaching for his own gun at his belt.

Linong stabbed his hand out of instinct, and muffled the man’s wail of pain with his sleeve. The man bit down on his arm as he yelled, breaking through his skin and wetting his arm with blood. 

Linong flipped the man under him and saw that he had a knife in his other hand. Eyes flashing, he lunged up for Linong’s throat. On instinct, Linong dragged his own blade across his neck and slammed his arm back to the ground.

The man gasped as the blood flowed out, already choking him and spilling out of his mouth. He was gone in less than a minute.

Linong knelt above his body, blade and hands bloody, red soaking into his pant legs. Slowly, he let himself up, turning back to face Wenjun.

The man was stunned. Face slack and mouth open, he gaped at Linong. Right. It had been the first time he had seen Linong kill.

Bitterness filled his mouth, and when previously it all felt so good, the taste was a painful shock. A reminder that no matter what Wenjun said, it didn’t erase everything he had done, nor what he would do. Linong was a killer. What Wenjun thought was out of reach for him, a sort of wishful thinking he didn’t deserve. 

Wenjun was kind for giving him a taste of how good he was.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was his work.

Zhangjing’s voice filtered in eerily through his brain.  _ When was the last time you relaxed, Linong? _

He couldn’t. He was an agent. Fun meant death and failure. 

Linong straightened, muttering gruffly, “We’re being watched. We need to get out of here,  _ now _ .”

Gingerly, and before he could stop himself, he held out a hand.

Wenjun wouldn’t take it. His palm was wet with blood. He had just killed a man in front of him. He had shown him what a  _ monster _ he could be. Wenjun wouldn’t--

Wenjun slipped his hand in his and nodded. He didn’t flinch at all.

They ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> linong is such an interesting character to me that it hurts. wenjun is so soft ohmygosh
> 
> leave a comment here or on my curious cat if u have some time! ur comments rly make me happy :')


	73. Yanchen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall left some of the nicest comments every last time :3

Yanchen brushed a tuft of black hair out of his eyes, shaking his head a couple of times to ruffle his already messy hair. He sighed: without a proper haircut, he wasn’t going to have nice hair in a while.

Then suddenly, a hand darted out of nowhere and slapped him across the forehead. Yanchen yelped and looked down at a very unimpressed Ding Zeren.

“What?” he said, louder and whinier than was necessary. Dramatically, he slapped his own hands over the place he had struck him, moaning loud in a way that would suggest Zeren had whipped him rather than slapped him.

“Stop doing that.” Zeren scowled, dark eyebrows furrowing tightly. “You’re attracting too much attention.”

Yanchen glanced to his side to see that, just as he said, there were a few unimpressed, uncomfortable looks being thrown their direction at the commotion he was making. He turned back to Zeren.

“Maybe I would be quieter if you didn’t slap me!” 

Zeren only scowled darker. “I was referring to before. You attract too much attention when you’re trying to be a fucking supermodel or something.”

“Supermodel?!?!”

Zeren sighed, then straightened. Looking away from Yanchen slightly, he slowly brushed his brown bangs out of his eyes, then shook his head a couple of times to emphasize his swept locks. Combined with the nonchalant look on his face, it was very attractive. Yanchen cooed at him.

“Zeren, you’re so cute.”

“That’s-- What I’m  _ trying _ to say is look at how many people you can attract by doing something like that!” His cheeks were red as he tilted his head back to the few eyes watching. “We’re in a fucking shopping mall, not back at home!”

Yanchen, seeing the few people greedily eyeing Zeren’s adorably angry face, decided to agree with him, even if he didn’t necessarily think he would attract as many people as Zeren just did in his effort to prevent him from raising attention. 

He supposed that he should just agree with whatever Zeren said today, as, technically, it was his fault they had to keep an eye out for danger in the first place. Yanchen’s leg was healing fast with Qin Fen’s tissue regrowth, and with it, his restlessness grew as well. He could walk, even run, and he could stand on his injured leg if he really needed to fight with the other; he was basically healed at that point, and he thought he deserved to leave the hospital wing for a bit.

Mubo had almost popped a vein when he said so, and Yanchen was bracing himself for one of his fussy outbursts over whatever broken state his body was apparently in, when Qin Fen and Xingjie walked in. 

The two of them had laughed when Mubo complained to them about his restlessness, but to his surprise, they sided with Yanchen when he said that he wanted to leave the base for a short while. 

“Why not?” Xingjie had said, ruffling Yanchen’s hair to his great displeasure. “We just changed bases, and it would do good if someone appeared in a random city to confuse them of our location.”

“But Xingjie, he’s injured!” Mubo was still indignantly trying to keep Yanchen pinned down.

“He’s basically healed, you know that, Mubo.” Qin Fen had put his arms around him affectionately, tucking his face at the crook of his shoulder. “Just the other day you were saying that he’s been healing the fastest out of everyone!”

Mubo spluttered, but the damage was done.

Xingjie let Yanchen go on a little trip outside the base, as long as he went far enough to not alert anyone of their location, and as long as he brought someone reliable with him.

Which brought him there, in the middle of a shopping mall in a city a-ways from their current base, with Zeren crossing his arms looking disappointed with him.

“You’re no fun.” He pouted. “I should have brought Ziyi or Xingjie with me instead.”

Zeren raised an eyebrow. “Ziyi can’t even move from his bed and Xingjie is actually doing work, unlike you.”

“I’m injured!” Yanchen exclaimed, then realized his mistake.

“Exactly! Why are you moving around if you’re injured!”

“...I should have brought Xiao Gui.”

“Xiao Gui isn’t reliable. If you came with him, Xiao Gui would just get you guys kicked out by talking about the best place to set up bombs or cameras.”

“Ruibin?”

“You think Ruibin is going to waste a day of hard work to accompany you to buy… what did you even want to come here for?”

Seeing his chance, Yanchen grabbed Zeren’s hand. “Exactly. We need to buy stuff. Let’s go get some clothes for you. I’m getting tired of you stealing my sweaters.” He tugged him closer to him, slinging his arm around his shoulder and mushing his face in his chest. “We haven’t gone on an actual date yet, so this can be our first date!”

He knew he was being silly, but it was worth it to see the red flush across Zeren’s cheeks.

Perhaps this was good for Zeren as well. Though he tried to not show it, Yanchen knew that he was stressed these few days as well. Yanchen himself had had the final tissue regrowth procedure done on his leg a few days back, a painful experience that Zeren had been there for. Justin was healing up nicely, but was constantly asking why Chengcheng wouldn’t go see him, a question that Zeren couldn’t answer. Chengcheng himself was just as stormy as silent as he had been since Justin woke up, and Zeren couldn’t coax him out of it. All that, and Zhengting and Wenjun were out risking their lives for a huge project mission too. It was enough to make anyone go crazy.

So he released Zeren’s head and slipped his hand into his instead, smiling down at him as Zeren grumbled about the dangers in entering a store with so many surveillance cameras. He had a point, to be fair, but Yanchen caught the ghost of a smile at the corner of his lips, and decided that it was okay.

They bought a few sweaters for Zeren in the store, paying with the shiny black card that had Ziyi’s name on the side. Then, at Yanchen’s insistence, they sat down at a small shop to share a cup of ice cream.

It was nice, eating ice cream out of a paper cup, watching Zeren scowl at a dropped piece of chocolate. It was relaxing and soft and sweet, and Yanchen found himself wondering if this would be his life if he had been born into a normal family instead of getting dumped out on the street for as far as his memory extended. Yanchen would be like any of the other teenagers he watched pace around the mall, all laughing and pointing at things in store windows. 

Would he still like Zeren the way he did now? He watched as Zeren spooned more ice cream into his mouth. Probably. Zeren was still the cutest person he had ever met, even after months and months of meeting him again; even if he didn’t seek it, he attracted eyes everywhere he went, with his handsome face and confident posture.

But then again, perhaps not. Zeren suddenly darted his eyes around, scanning the area so carefully that Yanchen realized that maybe this is what drew him into him in the first place. Zeren was more than a cute face and nice person. He was the little boy who looked up to Yanchen when they were younger, the boy who worked so hard and endured so much to become the fighter he was today. He was the boy who had gone through hell just like Yanchen did, understood and saw the world the way only people like them could. He was responsible and smart and so much Yanchen wasn’t. Maybe that’s why Yanchen liked him so much, so much more than anyone else he had had flings with or had been attracted to.

“Yanchen,” Zeren said in a low voice, cutting into his thoughts. “I think there’s a woman watching us.”

Yanchen shook himself, freeing himself from the stupor he was in to realize that his ice cream had melted in his spoon. Zeren was looking at him with wide, serious eyes. “What?”

“Don’t turn around, but she’s there,” Zeren insisted, then smiled wide, as if Yanchen had said something incredibly funny. 

It was just as he thought, Yanchen thought. Zeren was still alert, even when he had put his guard down. “Maybe we should go to the arcade,” he said in a loud voice, standing up and grabbing the remains of their melting ice cream.

Zeren grinned, then clung to his arm, squeezing him tight. Neither of them looked back at the woman Zeren had said was watching them, but Yanchen felt the hairs prickle at the back of his neck, and knew that Zeren was right.

They walked briskly, making their way to the arcade they had passed by earlier. Zeren was blabbering about something about parents and money and clothes, and Yanchen just laughed as a reasonable response. If all was okay, perhaps she didn’t want anything to do with them, and was only staring at Zeren’s pretty face.

In the arcade, Yanchen immediately pulled Zeren into a darker corner, where a tall machine stood, it’s shiny surface slightly reflective under the neon lights. 

“Wow, we should play this,” he said, squeezing Zeren’s arm back. He glanced at the surface, silently hoping that there was no one in it apart from themselves, and that they could actually enjoy the arcade game in front of them.

Instead, when he looked in, he could see distinctly a woman, with sunglasses and ice blond hair, playing at another machine a few meters away but nonetheless still staring at them.

Zeren must have seen her as well, if the squeeze he got in return was anything to go by. However, he kept cool, shoving a coin into the machine and beginning to press its buttons. 

“You should try,” he said when he was done with the game, handing the controls over to Yanchen. “Let’s see if you can beat my score.”

They were pretty good actors, Yanchen thought, as he pressed buttons. No one else in the arcade seemed to care too much about them: nothing was too remarkable about them with their actions and dialogue. However, when he glanced up in the surface and saw that the woman was still there, now watching them even closer, he knew that they weren’t fooling her.

“Zeren,” he breathed, then swore loudly as if he was angry at the game. “She’s still there.”

Zeren nodded slightly in affirmation, then darted his eyes back up into the surface. She had come a little closer now, changing to an arcade machine just a few steps away now.

“Come with me.” With that, Zeren grabbed Yanchen’s arm and led him down a narrow hallway, to where there was a shiny red EXIT sign beside the employee washrooms. Yanchen went along, not looking back, and only glanced behind him when they slipped out of the door and into a dimly lit staircase.

Zeren was walking faster now, pulling Yanchen along down the stairs. Their feet thudded against the ground, tapping out a rhythm. 

But then, Yanchen heard the tread of another-- not the footsteps of his and Zeren’s, but of someone else behind them. He spun around, hands going to the knife hidden in his sleeve, but saw that Zeren had already moved.

Zeren had the woman pinned against the wall, having slammed her into it when he had lunged for her. He was grappling at her arms as she pushed back, trying to dislodge herself from his grip. Under the yellow light above her, something glinted along her fingers: a small blade.

Yanchen lunged forward, but Zeren had seen it too. He grabbed for her hand, but she was quick and moved it out of the way, though knocking her sunglasses off her face in the process. She stepped backwards as Zeren lunged for her again, crushing them under her foot. 

Yanchen tried to dart in with the knife then, but the woman saw him coming and twisted her and Zeren out of the way. Stepping backwards, she threw both of them down the stairs, tumbling and fighting. 

He swore, then darted forward again. However, just as he was about to sink his knife into the woman’s back, she was being rolled over, eyes going blank. Zeren emerged from underneath her, panting, hands slick with blood. 

Yanchen rushed forward. “Zeren!”

Zeren raised his arm to stop him. A thin trail of blood ran down his arm from a cut on his forearm, the blade that had created it still in the woman’s hands.

“You’re hurt!” Yanchen yelped and knelt at his side, grabbing his arm to inspect how deep the cut was.

Zeren was still panting, his head covered in sweat. He didn’t respond.

“There’s so much blood!” Yanchen felt himself go hysterical. “Let me patch it up!”

His hands went to his shirt. However, just as he was about to cut a strip out of it, Zeren grabbed his hand. “Calm down.”

He was still panting, but Yanchen frowned. “You’re hurt, and there’s so much blood. What do you mean ‘calm down’?”

As a response, Zeren raised his cut arm again, though this time, closer to Yanchen’s eyes. Yanchen blinked. In his fist was a short blade, dripping with blood.

“Not...not my blood,” Zeren panted one more time. “Most of it… is hers.”

Yanchen glanced at the woman again and saw that indeed, there was a fine slit across her throat. Zeren had cut it so precisely, he didn’t even notice it in his haste.

“I’m still going to patch you up,” he retorted. Then, before Zeren could say anything else, he tore his shirt and wrapped it tight around his arm. “You’re still cut.”

Zeren didn’t respond, so Yanchen continued on with bandaging his arm the best he could, tying the cloth at the end and hoping that his medical skills were good enough to stop the bleeding. 

When he was done, he straightened. Zeren sat up and stretched himself, and only then, did Yanchen realize that he was holding in a breath, his heart drumming quick and hard under his chest. He swallowed.

Zeren crawled over to the woman, immediately beginning to strip her down. Face tight with concentration, he didn’t look at Yanchen. 

Yanchen followed him, though his eyes were on Zeren. The attack had been way too sudden, and his mind hadn’t even grappled with the fact that Zeren had nearly  _ died. _

The blade had been centimeters away from Zeren’s face. Just one more swipe, and it could have been Zeren bleeding out on the ground, his blank eyes staring back at him. 

He almost wanted to laugh. Just minutes ago, he had been daydreaming about a life he would never have, while it was Zeren keeping an eye out for the both of them, it was he who noticed the woman and had killed her. Yanchen hadn’t done anything.

With a jolt, he realized that Zeren was calling him.

“Yanchen,” Zeren said, holding something out. His eyebrows were furrowed. “There was something in her pocket.”

Yanchen shook his head a couple of times, then dropped his gaze to what he was holding out. In his palm, there was a folded piece of paper.

He took it, zombie-like, unfolding it and eyes skimming over the words. His heart clenched. 

_ I demand an audience with Zhou Yanchen and Zhu Xingjie. I know where your new base is. I know where all of you are, all the time. Meet me at the abandoned warehouse we used to go to together when we were young. Don’t try to ambush me or pull anything funny. I know Cai Xukun and Zhu Zhengting and a whole bunch of other agents part of the Retributation are at the Guixin Hotel. Any wrong moves, and I tell Byun they’re there for him. -ZR _

“Yanchen?” Zeren was shaking him. “Yanchen, who is it from? What do they want?”

Slowly, Yanchen slipped the paper into his jacket pocket. Without a word, he turned to Zeren and pulled him into his embrace.

“ZR.”

_ Zhou Rui _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment here or at my curious cat if u want!! love talking to u guys <3


	74. Zhengting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ur comments made me really happy last time <3

Zhengting could admit that it was a little cliche.

If sitting outside on the veranda, late at night, wasn’t enough, there was the moonlight shining down on him as well, making everything, including the water below him, ripple bright and silver. Add to that the fact that he was quite literally at an ocean villa, one catered specifically for the rich and famous, and it seemed all too much like a scene out of the few movies he’d seen.

He sighed, peering over at the water. Despite it being almost one in the morning, the moon was shining so bright he could see his reflection shining back at him: pale with dark eyes and dark eyebags to boot. He really needed to catch a break after this.

There was a light tapping sound from behind him. Zhengting didn’t bother to turn, having already heard the distinct shuffle of the man walking across to the door.

Cai Xukun didn’t bother to ask if he could join him either. He just came right by him and sat himself down, not quite at the other end of the veranda, but a respectable distance away where Zhengting could peer at him through his lashes.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Xukun asked, voice a little raspy still from whatever dream he was pulled away from. Under the moon, the roots of his hair, usually black, were a shiny grey instead, and the ends of his blond hair were almost white. Zhengting decided that Xukun needed a haircut.

“I tried,” he admitted, leaning on one of his hands, “but Wenjun and Nongnong aren’t back, so I didn’t dare black out entirely before they got back.”

Xukun grunted. “Guess I’m the bad leader then. I passed out as soon as I hit the bed.”

The slightly self-deprecating tone in his voice made Zhengting smile. “You’re not a bad leader. You’re just tired. You had to pilot a plane all day today.”

“You did too, and you don’t even look remotely sleepy,” Xukun pointed out. 

Zhengting scoffed. “I don’t look tired? I can see my eyes and skin in the water, okay?”

Xukun stared at him for a few seconds, then shook himself a few times, as if to revive himself. “You look pretty good to me.”

Zhengting didn’t know how to respond. “Well... I always look good to you.” 

Xukun blinked. Zhengting realized what he had just said and quickly looked away. The moon and the fact that it was late at night were making him too honest for his own good.

“I guess you do,” Xukun said quietly. There were a few moments of silence that followed. 

“I feel like we’re both too sentimental for our own good,” Zhengting said. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but this was one of the first moments in a while he had to spend actual time with Xukun alone. No fighting, no discussing plans, no fucking: just comfort.

Xukun looked at him. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, today on the plane, we were both thinking of the sunrises we used to watch back at SM; you even remembered that time we watched one after our first mission.” He laughed. “And now, we’re sitting out here on the veranda, under the moon, alone, feeling all sentimental and honest.”

Xukun chuckled. “I guess you’re right. We think too much sometimes.”

“Do you remember that time we snuck out to explore the city market after one of our missions too? Or the time we were driving back and it started raining so hard, we had to camp out under some boulders? Or that Xingjie brought us all out to watch the stars after training?” he prattled on, lost in his thoughts. Zhengting is sure he remembers; Zhengting himself surely does. They seem like they belong to another Zhengting now, each one a rose-tinted slice of when it was just him and Xukun, when he saw nothing ahead of him except more training and brushes of Xukun’s skin against his.

“I remember those times.” Xukun hummed. He was looking at Zhengting a little more carefully now, as if he was afraid he would break him with his gaze. 

“A good memory.”

“I remember a lot of things about you.” Xukun’s voice is still lower.

Zhengting stared at him. The moonlight really did make both of them more honest. They hadn’t had any more serious conversations like this one ever since he blurted out to Xukun that he hadn’t had family when he was younger, and that his kids gave one to him when it was all he wanted. He’d said that he’d tell Xukun another time the details, but he doesn’t remember ever doing so.

Suddenly feeling brave, he opened his mouth again. “I try not to remember anything before SM.”

Xukun’s eyes widened a tiny bit at the abrupt confession, but he remained silent, peering at Zhengting through his lashes.

“I think my mother left me and my father when I was three? Four? I don’t remember how young I was exactly, but I can’t even remember when my birthday is or how old I am, so it’s not that surprising,” Zhengting mused, not looking directly at Xukun but feeling the weight of his gaze on him. “I can’t remember too much of her, but I remember that she was young and beautiful.” He took a deep breath. “I think she had the prettiest laugh.”

He glanced at Xukun, smiling. “I remember wondering why she would leave me and my dad if she was always laughing when she played with me, but more and more, I wondered why she didn’t take me with her.”

“My dad didn’t take it very well at least. He used to beat the shit out of me after drinking, screaming at me that it was all my fault that she had to leave. I’d cry and try to hide and silently wish that my mother had taken me with her, but then in the mornings, everything would be alright again. My dad would cook me my favourite breakfast and act like nothing had happened.” He swallowed. “Sometimes, he’d even patch up the bruises he’d given me.”

“But then, when I was four or five, there was a night where he came home even later than usual. He didn’t even scream at me then, even though I could smell the fumes coming off him. He just grabbed me and shoved me into his room and locked the door.”

He could see Xukun’s jaw setting.

“He made me sit in a corner, and just before he did anything else, he looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘Zhengting, I hope you know, it’s all your fault’. Then, he climbed onto a chair and hung himself.”

He paused, watching how Xukun was biting the inside of his cheek.

“It seemed like a pretty common theme in my life, always getting left behind, always being blamed. My mother left and it was all my fault, my father killed himself and it was all my fault, and the chains of foster homes never stopped reminding me that my daddy had killed himself and that I deserved to have my eyeballs gouged out.”

“But then, I ran away, and SM found me. They brought me to you guys: Yanchen, Xingjie, Ziyi, and you.”

“I remember what it was like, meeting you for the first time.” He laughed. “You were so cold, Xukun, glaring at me from your bunk bed. And when I started training, you glared at me even when I tried to say hi.”

“Everyone said that you were the coldest person, that you were the King, but I didn’t see that later on. I saw how warm you were, how much you cared.” 

He lowered his voice. “I wish I told you this then.”

There was an extended period of silence, where the only noise was the splashing of the water against the veranda. Zhengting stared out into the horizon, heart heavy.

Perhaps Xukun would understand why Zhengting didn’t stay for him. He left because he was so afraid of getting left behind again, that he took it into his own hands to leave first. He ran away from Xukun’s feelings when he had the opportunity, and let years of time seep between them before he reached out again. 

Then, a light hand was on his arm. Xukun wasn’t smiling: his eyebrows were drawn, mouth serious. “Are you okay?”

Zhengting stared at him. “What?”

“Are you okay?” he repeated. Xukun took his hand off his arm. “You’ve been through so much; I didn’t even know.”

This was what Zhengting was talking about. Even when he was so hot and cold, Xukun never failed to surprise him with just how warm he could be, how his warmth could peek out through the chinks in his armour, how just a little bit of that heat could make Zhengting feel warm. “Yeah, I’m fine now. It still hurts sometimes, but I think I can say it now.”

Xukun hummed. “It’s okay if you’re still hurt by it.”

Zhengting looked at him, how pretty he is with his warmth seeping out all of his cracks and his face etched with concern, no judgement at all. He looked at him, and he wondered what would happen if he’d lean forward and press his mouth against his. Xukun had been so respectful to him, after they’d had sex after Justin came back in a coma and Zhengting felt like everything was crumbling in front of his eyes. The first permanent family he’d found, slipping between his fingers again. Back then, he’d needed someone to cling to, someone to just hold him so that he could cry. So he’d kissed Xukun, and Xukun had carried him somewhere soft and safe and let his warmth wash over him gently. 

He doesn’t need that right now; he feels grounded, even though it felt like he’d let go of something heavy and dark. But with how Xukun was looking at him, features soft under the moonlight, he couldn’t help but wish that he was allowed to do it.

“Okay,” he breathed. Gingerly, he raised one of his hands and laid it on top of Xukun’s. Xukun doesn’t flinch, just follows the movement with his eyes until Zhengting’s hand is pressed on top of his. They stay like that for a while.

“For the record, Zhengting,” Xukun began again, voice lower and quieter than anything else he’d said that night. “I wouldn’t have left you. I could never leave you. I tried, but I couldn’t.”

Zhengting doesn’t allow himself to think what the words could mean, and he doesn’t have to.

There’s a quick succession of knocks at the door. Both him and Xukun jump as if they’ve been stabbed, then glance at each other.

The door slid open, and Wenjun stumbled in, face flush from running. He panted a few times, then, seeming to realize that he’d interrupted a moment, stiffens. His eyes darted from Xukun to Zhengting, then rest on how their hands are tangled together.

Wenjun smiled, and Zhengting frowned. If anything, it was more rueful than he’d known Wenjun to ever appear. 

“Um, I’m sorry, but Nong and I just got back from the restaurant, and you guys might want to see what’s happened.”

He stiffened. “What?”

“We were watched,” Wenjun explained, though his eyes are still focused on how Xukun’s fingers are gently clasped around his. “Linong realized that our waiter was spying on us and killed him before he could do anything.”

Xukun’s hand tightened around his as he looked at Zhengting, coldness and alertness replacing where it was previously warm and soft. “They’re watching us.”

Zhengting agreed with a nod. “What should we do?”

Xukun considered it for a moment. “Nothing for now. Not until we know more about what’s going on.” He turned back at a very stiff Wenjun at the doorway. “What did you do with the body?”

Wenjun seemed to shake himself a bit before clearing his throat. “Linong carried it down one of the emergency exits with less cameras. It’s in the other suite now. He wanted me to get you to help him dispose of it.”

Xukun got up. Zhengting felt his hand slip away from his own. “I’ll get right to it.” He looked back at Zhengting. “You stay here with Wenjun.”

Zhengting nodded, and watched as he brushed past Wenjun and out the door. 

He was about to turn back to Wenjun and ask if he was hurt anywhere, if there was anything else he needed to know, but instead, he was surprised by how Wenjun is beside him in a moment, eyes wide and uncharacteristically a little panicked, his gaze boring into him. 

“Are you and Xukun getting back together?” he asked, not dropping his gaze.

Zhengting had never seen Wenjun this serious or concerned before. “What?”

“You’re hands,” he said in lieu of an answer. “You were holding his hand.”

Taken aback, Zhengting unconsciously flinches. “No, no, no. We’re trying to be friends again.”

Wenjun continued to bore into him. “Really?” He pressed closer. 

“What? Yeah.” Zhengting put his hands on Wenjun’s shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“I-” Wenjun finally dropped his gaze. 

“Yeah? What is it?”

Wenjun looked up again, eyes suddenly shiny. “I just hope that you’re happy, okay, Zhengting?”

Zhengting scrambled to get closer. “Wenjun! Why are you crying!”

Wenjun didn’t say anything more. Instead, he wiped his eyes roughly with the back of his hand and, carefully, as if he was unsure, pressed forward so that he was hugging Zhengting, thin arms wrapping around his torso. He rested his face into Zhengting’s shoulder in way that told him that even though Wenjun didn’t want to see him cry, he couldn’t stop but wet the fabric of his sweater.

Zhengting, confused, wrapped his arms around him in return.

They sat like that for a while. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading!! poor wenjun tho
> 
> leave a comment if u have some time! i love reading them and using them to build my story <3


	75. Yanjun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all of the nice comments last chapter oml i love u guys so much they make me so happy and make me want to write
> 
> now get ready

“So where are you going to dump the body?” Yanjun frowned down at the limp form in his arms, the stench of blood already invading his nostrils. Thank god at least that Nong had slit the poor guy’s throat cleanly, since if he had this much blood in him leaking out just from the precise cut he did give him, a larger gash would have bled all over the place. 

“We’re in the middle of a seaside resort, Yanjun,” Xukun responded dryly, rolling up his sleeves from where he was standing outside on the balcony. “The middle of a SEA-side resort. Where the fuck do you think we’re going to dump him?”

Linong smiled from where he was mopping up the blood that he had left on the floor when he dragged the body in, and Yanjun scowled. “Okay, okay. I get it. We’re dumping it in the ocean, seems simple. Are you sure that they won’t have anything to prevent that though? It seems so basic to dump bodies in oceans.”

“I dislike how obvious it is too.” Xukun walked back in, arms outstretched. “But we don’t really have a choice. The fact that this guy was watching Linong and Wenjun eat just proves that this place has more surveillance than we thought-- and specifically surveillance for  _ us _ . We can’t go trekking too far with a dead body in our arms.”

Linong chucked the bloody towel in his hand to a bin in the side, though Yanjun saw that the ground was still stained. “We need to go back and clean up wherever I might have dripped blood,” he said quietly. “Wenjun was cleaning up behind me, but we should go make sure.”

“Let’s do that as soon as we get this body in the ocean.” Xukun nodded, taking the man from Yanjun’s arms. “Let’s go.”

Yanjun reached for the black mask on the side he had brought for late night excursions where he didn’t particularly want to be noticed and attacked. “I can carry the body, Kun. You might be better at fighting any random people off anyways.”

He reached to take the body back, but Xukun backed away and shook his head. “No, Yanjun. I’ll go with Nong. You stay here.”

Yanjun frowned. “I’m not that tired, Xukun.  _ You  _ were the one who was flying the plane all day yesterday. Just let me and Nong go do it.”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me being tired.” Xukun raised his eyebrows. “But I need to leave someone here to stay with Zhangjing, and I thought you would be the best person to ask.”

_ Fuck _ . Immediately, hot shame rushed through him.  _ I should have been thinking of Zhangjing _ . He quickly looked back at the door to the suite bedroom from where he was standing at the doorway. “Yeah, yeah. You’re right. I’ll stay here. You guys go.”

Xukun nodded, face expressionless. Linong only looked worried. “Zhengting and Wenjun are at the other suite, so if something does happen, just run to wherever is more safe.”

“Yeah,” Yanjun responded automatically, already wanting to return to the bedroom to make sure Zhangjing was safe. Zhangjing, who he was almost going to leave, unprotected,  _ again _ . “You guys stay safe too. Don’t get caught, but if you do, just be prepared to dump a couple more bodies, okay?”

They nodded, Linong sending him another one of those wide-eyed looks that made Yanjun feel like he was looking into his sould or something, then creeped off into the night.

Yanjun watched them as they slipped into the darkness towards the direction of the ocean cliffs, then turned and went back inside, locking the door as he went.

The first thought that he had when he walked back into the bedroom wasn’t a good one.

Immediately, he saw the large puddle of blood and clothing in the center of the room, the stench there even more overwhelming than the open wound on the dead man himself. Yanjun took a woozy step forward, eyes darting around, then felt his heart drop.

Zhangjing wasn’t in the room.

He felt himself move slowly, as if he was tugging his limbs through a vat of honey, reaching forward though his mind and heart suddenly were going at a million kilometers an hour.

_ Where the fuck is he? Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.  _ He took a step forward.  _ He’s gone, where is he?  _ Another step, his head now swivelling around, still seeing nothing.  _ Oh god, this is what happens when he don’t stay for a moment. It’s your job to protect him, and you didn’t, where is he? _

He grappled at the clothes in the bloody heap in the center, then began crawling around, his heart beating faster every second. Where was Zhangjing? 

In his haste, he rammed himself against the bed frame, the impact of his body against the end of it rattling through the walls. The shock from it just increased his panic, and Yanjun paused, realizing that his lower lip was shaking.

Then suddenly, the door to the washroom banged open. Yanjun looked up and saw a very confused Zhangjing, dressed in a soft shirt and pants, hair damp and dripping at the ends. “Yanjun? Was that you?”

Relief rushed through him. Zhangjing’s eyes widened. “What are you doing crawling around on the ground?”

He rushed forward, scooping Yanjun’s shaking frame into a kneeling position. “What’s wrong?” His voice was afraid, his eyes alarmed as they searched Yanjun’s pale face.

“Blood,” he said stupidly. Zhangjing blinked as realization flooded his face.

“Those are just the clothes that Nongnong was wearing when he brought the guy back. I dumped them in the middle of the room since… I wanted to take a shower and I didn’t really want the smell of blood everywhere.” He laughed nervously, hands gripping Yanjun’s wrists. “Didn’t you notice that it was Linong’s clothes?”

He should have. It should have been obvious. Yanjun shook his head.

Zhangjing paused, eyes large and round, the dampness from his hair smelling like something citrusy and good. His gaze seemed like it was boring into him, a skill that Yanjun ought to be the most experienced in, but still makes him feel like he’s exposed under his eyes. It’s like he’s lying on the floor, pinned by the heart to the ground by Zhangjing’s eyes, his chest open like he’s some sort of autopsy. Zhangjing makes him weak like that, he knows. He has him wrapped around his little finger, he always has. 

“Why were you crawling around anyways?”

Because just the thought of Zhangjing being hurt again makes him shut down. When Yanjun saw that bloody pile of clothes he couldn’t think of anything but the possibility that he was hurt, that Yanjun had failed to protect him again. 

Yanjun stared up at Zhangjing, the truth threatening to bubble past his lips. They’re alone, he realized, and it would be so easy to lie there, broken and exposed, to tell Zhangjing how much he loves him, how much he’s always loved him.

What stopped him was what always stopped him. Zhangjing shines so brightly it shows all of Yanjun’s blemishes and scars, so jarring it’s funny how ugly they are for how he’s supposed to be beautiful. He’s filthy and weak, crawling around in the blood and dust just by the sight of some fucking clothes. Empty inside.

“I… wanted to,” he muttered stupidly, then allowed himself to be helped up. Zhangjing tugged on his sleeve and moved him gently into one of the beds. “I’m still covered in blood.”

“Just rest, Yanjun,” Zhangjing said simply, leaning over Yanjun in a way that made his chest ache with desire. Then, more quietly. “I think you need it.”

He turned, apparently to leave for his own bed, but stopped when Yanjun, selfishness and want overtaking him, grabbed his arm. 

“Don’t leave.” His words are raw and pathetic, but that’s what Yanjun is anyways for someone like Zhangjing, so he can’t stop to care. “Please. I’m afraid that you’ll go.”

Zhangjing turned, features soft but eyes hard. His voice was more tired than anything, making Yanjun’s blood freeze in his veins. “Afraid that I’ll go or afraid that you’ll lose me?” His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “I’m not weak, Yanjun.”

“I didn’t say you were weak, I just-” Yanjun grappled for words, Zhangjing’s gaze piercing him. 

“Are you sure you don’t think so?” Zhangjing rounded completely, his face serious and angry at Yanjun’s lack of response. “You seem very happy to make me some fucking damsel in distress all the time.” He steps forward. “You think I’m weak, Yanjun? You think that just because I can’t fight as well as you do that I’m weak?”

_ No,  _ he thought desperately,  _ you’re the one who makes  _ me _ weak _ .

“You think that if you take your eyes off me for a minute that I’ll be whisked away and killed?” Zhangjing pressed forward again. “You think that because I got  _ kidnapped  _ and  _ raped _ that I’ll never be strong again?”

Yanjun froze.

“You think that you’re not obvious when you’re worried for me? You think that I wouldn’t realize that you couldn’t recognize Linong’s clothes? Are you afraid that I’ll be tainted any more?”

He lowered his voice. “You think I don’t know when you go around killing people who have touched me? That guy you broke the arm of back at SM? Hendery Huang?”

They stared at each other. 

Zhangjing wasn’t supposed to know about Hendery. It was months ago. 

“How did you know about that?” 

Zhangjing just scoffed. “That’s what you’re concerned about? You really think I’m some stupid little boy, do you Yanjun? Am I a glass sculpture? Do you need to protect precious, perfect, good Zhangjing?”

“I wanted to get revenge!” He muttered, his hands beginning to shake. “I don’t think you’re a perfect little boy.”

It was the wrong thing to say. He sees his words slam Zhangjing like a bus, sees the sudden misery that paints across his face. “I knew it. You know it too, do you? You think I’m dirty now. You only cared about that good, pure Zhangjing did you? I can’t be perfect, Yanjun. I can’t be perfect anymore. I can’t.”

“It’s not what I meant--”

“What did you mean then?” Zhangjing’s eyes were glossy, and he wiped at them angrily with the backs of his hands. “Is this what you wanted? Me crying again? Stupid, naive, dirty, not-perfect You Zhangjing crying? You always make me so fucking  _ weak _ Yanjun. I hate it. I hate how you make me  _ feel _ .”

“Don’t cry, Zhangjing.” Yanjun reached helplessly for him, but Zhangjing brushed him off roughly.

“I hate you, Lin Yanjun. I don’t know why you want me to stay so weak and pure and good and whatever the fuck else you fucking need from me. Why was it me? You couldn’t have asked any other fucking techie back at SM to help you with your stupid, horrible project. Why do you always have to make me feel like I’m useless!” He stopped, sniffed hard. “You’re a monster, Lin Yanjun.”

It was like he had dumped cold water over him. Yanjun froze.

_ Ah _ . So that was it.

He had hoped, prayed, that by shielding Zhangjing away from what he dealt with everyday, what people like Zhangjing should never have to touch, that Zhangjing would never see Yanjun for who he really was. It was selfish and horrible, he knew, that he was hiding how much of a monster he really was, empty and twisted on the inside, greedily stealing Zhangjing’s warmth and kindness to fill the gaping hole he has inside of him. He had stolen Zhangjing’s warmth, had made him feel like he was the weak one when in reality, Yanjun was the weak one, using brute force to try to hide who he really was from Zhangjing. It was over though. Zhangjing knew.

He knew how much of a fucking monster he was, and he hated that Yanjun. 

Yanjun hated himself too.

Zhangjing was so close that when Yanjun grabbed him and pulled him onto the bed, he didn’t even have time to shriek. He hit the bed with a heavy thump, his eyes boring up angril from where Yanjun is leaning over him, caging him in with his arms on either side of his head.

“Is this what you want?” He breathes angrily, slowly. “You want me to feel weak, you fucking  _ monster _ .”

Yanjun saw red.

He grabbed Zhangjing’s wrists and pressed them down onto the bed. 

“You Zhangjing!” He growled. “Why don’t you understand?”

His heart was bleeding, leaking blood all over the sheets, mingling between them like it’s a wall to remind Yanjun that Zhangjing will never be his. He’ll be like everything else he’s ever wanted, too good for someone like him, unattainable once he realizes how much of a fucking monster Yanjun is. He’s afraid that when he moves again, he’ll leave bloody handprints all over Zhangjing’s wrists.

Zhangjing stiffened underneath him once before thrashing harder than ever. He panted, legs kneeing Yanjun hard, his face contorted in rage. Yanjun pinned him down harder.

Then, a tear slipped down Zhangjing’s cheek, glistening more beautiful than any jewel Yanjun had ever seen.

A tear slipped down his cheek from where his eyes were almost screwed shut, his mouth and entire body quivering with fear.

Yanjun realized too late. 

He jerked back, almost falling to the ground in his haste to move away from Zhangjing

_ You fucking monster,  _ he realized. 

Zhangjing was raped, and he just pinned him down on a bed.

Zhangjing gasped for air a few times from where he was lying on the bed, face and wrists red not from the blood Yanjun thought he would leave, but in anger. Then, before anything else happens, he sat up, eyes flashing, more angry and more dangerous than anything else Yanjun had ever seen.

In one move, he shoved Yanjun down on the bed. Yanjun hit his head hard against the frame, and through the stars in his vision, he saw Zhangjing’s angry face, still shaking, come into view.

“You always want to make me feel fucking weak!” he screamed, hands on Yanjuns shirt. He straddled him, nails and legs digging into Yanjun’s skin. Yanjun is frozen, iced over in horror and fear. “You just want me to be the good, pure boy don’t you? What the fuck do you want from me Yanjun!”

Then, he leaned down and slammed his mouth against his.

Yanjun’s eyes widened. Zhangjing pulled back, eyes stormy. “I can’t be whatever good, perfect version you’ve thought up for me, Yanjun. I can’t. I can’t be what you want. Are you angry?”

Yanjun just looked up at him. 

Zhangjing scoffed, crying again. “I knew it.”

He leaned down and kissed him again, harder still. It was like a bruise, like kissing an open flame. It hurt so bad, and Yanjun moaned with the force of it all.

Zhangjing licked at the seam of his mouth, breathing hard, still crying, as he pinned Yanjun’s wrists down in the same way he did to him before. He leaned down and bit down on Yanjun’s bottom lip. Yanjun coul feel the skin on his mouth rupture.

“I can’t Yanjun. I hate you. I hate how you make me _ feel _ .” Zhangjing let go of his hands, snaking his arms around Yanjun’s head.

Yanjun opened his mouth, a thousand things at the tip of his tongue about how he understands. Yanjun is a monster, greedy for things that don’t belong to him: Zhangjing’s smile, Zhangjing’s attention, Zhangjing’s love. He wanted everything about him; Zhangjing made him go crazy.

But before he could say anything, Zhangjing kissed him again. “Don’t say anything.” His demands are breathy. “Please. You’ll make me go crazy.”

He kissed him hard, tasting the blood on both of their mouths, and this time, Yanjun kissed back.

_ Monster. Greedy for things that don’t belong to him. _   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zhangjun :< i'm so sad
> 
> thank u for reading! leave a comment if u like!


	76. Chengcheng

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok quick thing: im writing some shorter fics recently, so if u have the time, pls leave a comment here or on my curious cat about a ship you'd like to see written! I'll write the ships that are the most popular, since i love all of them and i write for you guys <3
> 
> thank u

Chengcheng zipped up his jacket to his throat with one hand, the other hand resting on the cold metal gun in his pocket, his eyes trained on the window across the street.

The night was cool and crisp against the exposed parts of his face, Chengcheng having only pulled on a simple black face mask to conceal his identity for this specific job. His old disguise and mannerisms trainer would have howled at him for not taking more precaution to cover himself up, but to be completely honest, he just didn’t have the will to do anything more. 

The job he had taken that night wasn’t anything too complicated or dangerous anyways. Some person wanted another person dead: it was as simple as that. He didn’t even need to go in and fight in the flesh like he had needed to do two days ago. He just needed a gun, his aim, an open window where he could take aim at the back of the other man’s head, and he had all three of them, right in front of him. 

The only problem was that he couldn’t seem to raise his arm to shoot the man with his back towards him currently speaking into the phone in the building across the street.

He wasn’t sure when he had started feeling this way exactly, but it probably was years in the making. He had never wanted to kill or to be cursed with such a deadly natural talent in sharpshooting, but he had been forced into both, and for so long, he had tried to not think too much of it; it was part of him, it was his work. 

But after Justin had gotten shot, after he had been put into a coma, after Chengcheng had stopped going on missions, he had slowly realized that he couldn’t do it anymore. Looking at Justin’s lifeless face, thinking of the way his blood had drenched his shirt when the boy had collapsed into his arms, Chengcheng couldn’t bear to raise the gun. 

He didn’t want to be a killing machine. He wanted to be a boy, desperately.

It didn’t prevent him, however, from going on so many missions, back to back to back, after Justin had woken up. They were useless missions, the reward being barely enough to contribute to the funds the Retribution already had, but they let him get away from the base. 

They let him get away from Justin.

What made him want to laugh was that after all those years of tromping around with the boy, after finally finding a family that loved him, after realizing that he loved back, at the end of the day, he was still the same murderer he always was.

At the end of the day, it didn’t matter whether or not he thought Justin deserved to move on. What mattered was that he had pressed the button, and that Justin had woken up, and Chengcheng was left with the realization that he had just tried to kill his best friend.

His chest throbbed with the truth. 

No, not best friends anymore. He lost the right to call him that when he allowed himself to fall in love with him. He lost the right to even be in his life when Justin had nearly killed himself for him yet again, and Chengcheng had responded by turning off his life support.

Somewhere, at the back of his mind, he knew that the rest of them were worried for him. Chengcheng was getting up early to take any job from the stack of papers in the central living room, and coming back late after the sky had darkened and after he had spent a day drenched in blood and with the harsh wind cutting into his face. Zhengting and Xinchun had been worried for him, he knew, with how they tried to get up earlier as well to catch him before he left for the day. Zeren and Quanzhe, seeing the state he was in, had mercifully let him be. Yanchen, Xukun, Xingjie, Ziyi, Xiao Gui, Ruibin, Qin Fen, all of his new friends, had let him be. Wenjun and Linong received him every night without a word to patch up his wounds.

Justin left him alone. 

Chengcheng knew it was cowardly to keep running away like this. Zhengting and Zeren had caught him many times to ask why he wouldn’t go see Justin, but had backed off when he didn’t respond. They didn’t know, he knew, that Chengcheng had tried to kill Justin. Justin didn’t know, and he didn’t want him to know. 

And maybe, if he kept away from him, the boy would stop saving him like he always did, and maybe, Justin would actually have the normal, teenage life that he deserved. Maybe, he would be safe.

Chengcheng wasn’t going to give him a chance to endanger himself for Chengcheng again.

A cold wind whipped across the sky and into the open window. Chengcheng shifted his fingers around the gun and glanced at the time displayed on his wrist. Twelve-twenty-one AM. His target’s schedule had said that he usually left work at twelve-thirty. He had less than nine minutes to kill him, if he even was going to do the job in the end.

He knew that he couldn’t back out on the job. The Retributation didn’t fail on missions, and in a time when Xukun and Zhengting and the rest of them were on a high-profile mission hundreds of kilometers away, he couldn’t risk setting another danger on their tails. JYP was already his fault. 

It just showed how cowardly he was. He chose to run away from his problems with another problem, avoiding Justin with the skill he was too afraid to use now.

Twelve-twenty-six. His target had stood up, earlier than he had expected, was pulling on his coat and tidying up his desk. It was now or never.

Chengcheng brought the gun up, aimed, and fired.

That’s all there was to it.

***

He didn’t have to clean up. The people who had hired him would do that, and they would drop the money off at where they usually directed them to drop it off. Ruibin, Yueyue, or whoever would go pick it up. He wouldn’t have to think about this specific mission ever again. He would take another one tomorrow morning, and head to a different place, maybe even farther away than the one he had taken today.

Chengcheng thought about this as he drove Yanchen’s motorcycle through the dusty city. The lights on the street were yellow, shining down on him, illuminating the dirt he was kicking up behind him. Chengcheng pressed on the breaks as he swerved into a narrow street, the sides lined with small, beaten down stores. Some of them were still open, serving the tired men and women and even teenagers as they came back from school, from work, from wherever else they didn’t belong.

One of the stores he slowed down by was a sweet shop, it’s dirty and stained windows revealing rows of cakes and bread stacked up in glass cases. Chengcheng loved sweets, but what prompted him to pull up against the small shop wasn’t that.

He parked the motorcycle and climbed off slowly, carefully making his way back to the storefront. Sure enough, the two little boys he had seen were still there, arguing to each other about the various cakes behind the window.

They seemed to be too young to be running around this late at night, teenage boys who were too thin with clothes too short. Chengcheng realized that they probably didn’t have a place to go back to.

“The chocolate one looks the best.”

“Chocolate looks like shit. Let’s get one of the fruit ones.”

“Those are too expensive.”

“Chocolate is too expensive too!”

Looking at them lean against the wall, gazing in longing at the sweets, bickering between them over which cake to buy, Chengcheng felt a pang for a memory he had forgotten a long time ago.

It was a long time ago, only a few months after he had joined Zhengting and his group, his legs still healing from the bullets his old friends had littered them with. He wasn’t close with any of them yet, and didn’t really want to talk to them the same way they all squabbled amongst each other. He was used to being shut off, too scared to reveal anything that might hurt him in the future.

It didn’t apparently prevent Justin from prying at him every opportunity he got, however. The little shit clung to him like a leech as soon as he woke up that first night he spent with them at their little gas station base, pestering him every opportunity. While the rest of them kept their distance-- Zhengting only trying a little to get him to talk to them more-- Justin didn’t quit, following Chengcheng around and literally dragging him off to places he wanted to go. 

It was the same that night, when Chengcheng went along with Justin to the marketplace, sneaking off way too late for Zhengting’s liking, mainly because he didn’t want the boy to carry him and his partially disabled legs across the desert like he had the last time Justin had an idea of a place to see. They took the old Jeep and drove across the desert and into the city, until Justin parked the car beside one of the most beautiful, luxurious bakeries Chengcheng had ever seen. 

And then, Justin had dragged Chengcheng out, and he had pointed to a three-story cake they would  _ never _ be able to finish on their own, had pouted and asked Chengcheng to help him carry it to the car when he bought it.

Chengcheng shivered against the cold wind. The boys were still bickering amongst themselves. Chengcheng walked forward to them.

“Excuse me, but were you looking at the cakes?”

The boys whipped around as if they had been stabbed, instantly recoiling from the sight Chengcheng must have made: dressed in all black, with straps and wires all over him, his cheek bruised a deep purple and cuts still healing on his exposed hands. He couldn’t seem to care, however.

One of the boys, the one with a tooth missing, asked uneasily, “Yes. Why, sir? Were we bothering you?”

“No, no.” Chengcheng shook his head rapidly before seeing that they didn’t seem convinced. It was to be expected; he did look dangerous. He even had the outline of a gun in his front breast pocket. Maybe he should just get it over with and get out before they called the police on him or something.

Chengcheng reached into his pocket and brought out a wad of cash he had brought with him for the mission. Before the boys’ wide eyes, he counted out a few hundred dollar bills and pressed it into the first boy’s hand. “Take it. Buy yourself all the cakes you want.”

“B-but, mister--” the second boy spluttered, eyes darting nervously from side to side. Now that Chengcheng got a better look at him, he probably wasn’t a day over fourteen. 

Chengcheng shook his head. “Just take it. There’s nothing wrong with the money. You can ask the shopkeeper.”

The boys exchanged a glance, but Chengcheng didn’t want to stay for them to punch him, rob him, thank him, whatever. He nodded at them before turning and mounting his motorcycle again. This time, when he drove off, he made sure that the bike wouldn’t kick up too much dust to fall on the boys.

_ Getting soft, huh?  _ A voice that sounded like Justin’s rang out in his head, smug and playful. Chengcheng pressed his foot against the pedal, speeding out of the city and into the desert plains.

Years ago, two boys had stood in front of a bakery. Chengcheng had dropped the cake that Justin had convinced him to buy with him before they could pay for it. The owner of the bakery, thinking that they didn’t have enough money to pay for it, had come for him with a rolling pin, intending to beat the living daylights out of him. Chengcheng had reached for his gun.

Justin had put a hand on his arm and smiled at the man. He had pulled out a wad of bills, and the man had widened his piggy eyes. He had snatched the money, sniffling at them to get out of the shop before he could beat them for destroying one of his finest cakes, and they had left the place empty-handed.

Outside, with the wind whipping dust into their eyes, much like how it was cutting into Chengcheng’s eyes now, Justin had grinned at him. 

“Well, we didn’t get the cake, but at least we got out with our lives.” Justin had grinned wider. “Don’t get your gun at every opportunity, Cheng. You’ll just bring on more problems.”

Justin had saved him then. It was just one of the many times he did. Chengcheng squeezed his eyes shut and pressed forward, the desert spread around him.

***

Since the mission he had chosen to go on that night didn’t really force him to get right in on the action, Chengcheng didn’t need to make a detour to the medical center. He parked the motorcycle in one of the garages closer to his room and slowly crept into the base.

Chengcheng should have expected it to happen. The little shit was relentless; he should have expected that he was going to come after him eventually. 

Justin was leaning against the wall, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead from standing for so long, one of his hands clutching the IV bag he was wheeling along with him.

He jumped when he saw Chengcheng move through the doorway.

“Chengcheng!” he cried. Chengcheng frowned.  _ How did he manage to get away from the medical center, and how long has he been waiting here? _

“What were you doing out there so late!” Justin’s tone was light and playful like it always was, but Chengcheng thought he heard his voice hitch at the end. “You haven’t been back early in days!”

Chengcheng changed his shoes and slowly began to walk towards him. 

Justin, seeing the expression he must have had, quickly changed tactics. “I’m super tired, Chengcheng. I’ve been standing here all night. Could you take me back to the medical center? Just help me get back to my bed, it’s not that far--”

A sharp stabbing feeling spread through his chest. Chengcheng grit his teeth and ignored him.

“Chengcheng, Chengcheng, I-”

Chengcheng shoved past him, roughly pushing him out of the way in his effort to get into the corridor.

He heard the boy stumble, the scratch of the IV cart’s wheels against the floor, the awkward shuffling of feet as Justin scrambled to stay upright, his legs too weak still to keep him up for so long.

He stopped.

It was all he could do to not turn around again.

There were a few moments of silence. Then, a quiet, almost inaudible sniffling. 

Chengcheng didn’t move.

“Why?” Justin croaked, his voice soft and sad. “Why do you keep leaving, Chengcheng?”

“I keep asking them and they keep saying to give you some space. They told me, Chengcheng, how you protected me during the break in and how you stayed with me when I was out. They told me that you were probably recovering, but Chengcheng, how long do I have to wait? You keep leaving and coming back late, and I’m sick of waiting.” He sniffed again. “I’m so lonely without you, Chengcheng. Did I do something wrong?”

_ No, of course you didn’t. But you will again when I’m with you.  _

_ You’ll kill yourself for me. What will I do then? _

Chengcheng swallowed. In the coldest, stiffest voice he could find, he said, “I’ll get Xinchun to get you back to the medical center.”

Justin sobbed. “No, please. Please don't leave. Please.”

Chengcheng grit his teeth. He thought about Justin creeping out of the medical center at one in the morning to see him, how he had stood for hours on legs that were still too weak, how he had harmed himself again, for  _ Chengcheng _ .

“I don’t want to see you anymore, Justin. You should get back to the medical wing.”

He didn’t wait to hear Justin cry again. Chengcheng left the corridor as fast as he could, his brain telling him that he had done the right thing, but his chest feeling like it was tearing itself apart. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok quick thing: im writing some shorter fics recently, so if u have the time, pls leave a comment here or on my curious cat about a ship you'd like to see written! I'll write the ships that are the most popular, since i love all of them and i write for you guys <3
> 
> also: someone asked on my cc if i was okay with getting twitter dms, and the answer is YES! my twt is @/ramenree1, so come dm me if you want to be friends!
> 
> love ya


	77. Zhangjing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stay safe guys

“Byun is going to be here tonight.” 

That was what Zhangjing told Zhengting as soon as the man opened the door at eight in the morning. Zhengting looked like he had just crawled out of bed, and was still blinking the sunlight away in the early morning, but his eyes widened when he heard what Zhangjing said.

“Tonight? Isn’t he supposed to get here tomorrow?” 

“Yes, but I just checked the airlines and there’s a private jet getting here this afternoon, and there’s been some changes to the hotel itinerary.”

Zhengting rubbed his face, Zhangjing staring enviously at how pretty the man was even when his soft brown hair was tousled all over his head. “Okay, come in, and we can talk about it with Xukun.”

He slipped into the suite and followed Zhengting to the master bedroom.

Xukun was already awake when the two of them let themselves into the room, standing at the glass door that led outside to the porch with a cup of tea in his hands. He spun around when Zhengting pulled the door open.

“Zhengting? Why are you--” he stopped when he saw Zhangjing behind him. “Oh, hey, Zhangjing.”

“Morning, Kunkun.”

“Zhangjing said that Byun is going to be here tonight.”

Xukun frowned. “Didn’t you say that he was going to get here tomorrow?”

“I did, but times change.”

Xukun nodded, then gestured at the small couch and table at the corner of the room. “Let’s sit and talk then.”

They settled into the couch, placed conveniently where the sun was shining the brightest. It hit them, turning Zhengting’s hair from brown to gold: an extremely attractive transformation. Zhangjing noticed the tenderness that Xukun was glancing at the man with, and felt his chest throb lightly before pushing the feeling away.

“How did you know that Byun was going to come tonight?” Xukun set his cup down and rested his chin on his hands.

“I checked the airlines again,” Zhangjing explained. “And there’s a private jet arriving here tonight. That, combined with how the hotel has changed Byun’s original reservation from the ocean-side suite near ours to a regular suite at the main hotel, where there’s more security.”

“I see.” Xukun studied him. “Why would he do that?”

“Not sure. I’ve been making sure to cover up our digital tracks, so it can’t be that unless he has a team of incredibly skilled hackers, which he honestly might. But I think it might have to do with the body Nongnong and Wenjun had to deal with.”

“Wenjun said that the guy was dead before he could do anything, though,” Zhengting said gently. “And he didn’t have any devices on him that would let him communicate too easily.”

“But he can’t have been the only one.” Zhangjing watched the grimness wash over Xukun and Zhengting’s faces. They exchanged a glance.

“That makes sense.” Xukun sighed. “I thought that they wouldn’t find us, since we haven’t really been going out since Linong and Wenjun got attacked, but I guess we can’t escape everything.”

“No, we can’t,” Zhangjing agreed. “But this means that we have to move our plans to tonight instead.”

Zhengting nodded. “If Byun really is coming because he has suspicions we’re here, we should move fast before he can find where  _ exactly _ we are.”

“Exactly.” Zhangjing brushed a brown curl out of his eye. “We need to act tonight if we want to be successful.”

“Fine.” Xukun stood up. “Zhengting, can you wake Wenjun? I want to quickly organize a meeting.” He looked at Zhangjing. “I’m assuming you already told Linong and Yanjun.”

A throbbing pain rushed across his chest, and the discomfort must have been evident on his face because Xukun’s expression softened. “

Zhengting laid a hand on his arm. “Can you get them to come over here then, as well? We should all talk this over as a team as to how we’re going to carry out the plan.”

The sympathy in his eyes were bright under the sun. Zhangjing swallowed. 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll get them and come back.”

He stood and left the room, but on his way out, he could see Zhengting and Xukun exchange another anxious glance.

It was to be expected. Of course they would be nervous. Zhangjing and Yanjun hadn’t talked in days. 

Zhangjing knew that it was a stupid decision to give in and kiss Yanjun two nights ago, but at the same time, he couldn’t help himself. He’d wanted it for so long, and when Yanjun had pinned him down on the bed, he had lost the bit of rationality he still had. 

Yanjun’s lips were soft and hot, like he was kissing a tidal wave, the force of it slamming into him and washing around him. Zhangjing vaguely remembered moaning into it, feeling nothing but heat and anger and passion and  _ Yanjun _ .

It should have cleared up their feelings, at least, when Yanjun kissed him back, but all Zhangjing could think about was how the man had looked when he had shoved him off him.

Horrified. That was what he looked like. Yanjun’s eyes were huge, his mouth was bleeding, and his entire body was shaking. He only looked at Zhangjing for a moment longer before shoving him back against the bed and running out of the room.

He must have spent the night in the other bedroom, because half an hour later, it was Linong who crept into the bedroom and settled in beside him. Linong must have seen the state both of them were in, because he wrapped an arm around his shoulders and held his tear stained face against his chest without a word.

Yanjun hadn’t talked to him since that night. He hadn’t even tried to stay in the same room as him. Yanjun stayed locked up in the other bedroom, and Zhangjing was left roaming the suite, sometimes with Linong, sometimes with Zhengting, sometimes all alone.

Both of them weren’t ready, he supposed. It was a stupid move to act on his feelings when they were in such a vulnerable state, but Zhangjing couldn’t help but stay resentful at Yanjun. The man had kept him helpless and vulnerable, and had closed himself off as soon as he revealed some of his true feelings for him. 

Zhangjing bit the inside of his cheek.

Yanjun had kissed him back though. That was for sure.

A part of him even wished that Yanjun was just caught up in the heat of the moment, had just gone along with Zhangjing’s anger and need, but he knew it wasn’t the case in his heart. Zhangjing felt like he was out of his element, floating in an area between acceptance and denial, and with Yanjun shutting himself up day and night, he couldn’t get out of it.

***

“Let’s go over the plan one last time.” Xukun’s voice was firm as he looked around the room at the rest of them. The orange light of the sunset behind him made the tips of his hair look like they were burning.

“Yanjun, Zhengting, and myself will go for the assassination. We’ll head up the stairs of the main hotel, because they could cut the elevators, and fight off any opposition we might encounter. Byun probably has a suspicion that we’re here, so there’ll definitely be security.”

They all nodded.

“Linong will stay here with Zhangjing to make sure that no one can attack him while he’s breaking through the security and technology in the building. And Wenjun will stay here as well just in case any of us get hurt and need medical attention.”

Linong turned to Zhangjing and gave a small smile, then turned to Wenjun, an unreadable expression on his face. 

Zhangjing forced himself to stare at their leader.

“This is one of the most important missions we’ve ever done, and the Retributation is waiting back at home for good news.” Xukun paused. “Let’s do it.”

Zhengting turned a small blade over in his palm as he gazed at Xukun, eyes soft but face hardened. “Let’s go.”

They all rose. The sun was setting. They would need to start moving.

They were all strapped up and just checking over to make sure that they had everything they needed. Wenjun began to pat Xukun and Zhengting all over, checking that they had weapons and technology, talking to them with hushed voices. Linong sat on the bed beside them, saying something about the hotel’s elevator.

Zhangjing was supposed to be checking over the computers and technologies he was going to need to manipulate the security system, but he needed to do something first.

He stood and walked into the washroom, closing the door behind him.

Yanjun jerked when he looked up from the sink and saw Zhangjing staring at him, face instantly contorting to one of horror. Zhangjing swallowed. 

“Stop avoiding me,” he told him. He took a step forward, crowding into Yanjun’s space.

He watched the movement of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. “Zhangjing, I think we should spend some time apart--”

“Bullshit.” The words made him flinch, but Zhangjing didn’t care. “If you thought that we needed time apart, you wouldn’t have been so clingy, you wouldn’t have been freaking out every single time you think I’m hurt, you wouldn’t have almost had a nervous breakdown when you didn’t find me in that room.” He paused, staring into Yanjun’s brown eyes. “You wouldn't have kissed me back,” he said softly.

Yanjun stared back at him in a way that was so unlike him. It wasn’t the gaze Yanjun was known for, the sly, smart, devious gaze that made him seem brave and confident and beautiful. It was soft and gentle and broken, as if Zhangjing was pressing on it and feeling it crack apart in his hands. 

He didn’t say anything.

Zhangjing felt hot tears prickle at the corners of his eyes.

“Why do you have to make it so hard?” Zhangjing murmured. “Were you pitying me then, when you kissed me? When you saved my life? When you kept shielding me away from the real world?”

He blinked, hard. “You think I’m pathetic.”

Yanjun closed his eyes for a long moment, and when he opened them again, his gaze was hard.

“ _ I  _ think  _ you’re  _ pathetic.” Yanjun laughed, the sound so rueful and jarring that Zhangjing couldn’t help it.

He slapped him. 

Yanjun’s eyes widened. 

Zhangjing turned around. “Just go.”

Yanjun didn’t seem to hesitate before brushing past him.

Zhangjing stood facing the wall for a long time. The inside of his cheek was raw where he kept biting it, but he didn’t want to cry again and it was a good way to stop himself.

But then, a hand rested on his shoulder. Zhangjing looked up to see Linong peering down at him, gaze soft and sorry, and Zhangjing couldn’t help it.

He buried his face in his hands. At least then, no one would see him crying. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little zhangdejun angst for u
> 
> i recently opened up a new pseud @/instantramen for all of my kpop fics! im a multi, but i plan on posting some nct fics on there in the future, so if ur interested, go check em out
> 
> as usual, thank u for reading this chapter; i love you guys
> 
> one more thing: all lives matter. if you're versed in the recent movements around the blm movement, please consider spreading the word to others who may not be as educated about it. let's make a future where we can love each other for who we are as people. thank you!


	78. Ziyi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we haven't had ziyi in a while and i miss him

The good thing was that Ziyi could walk again.

His body still creaked with pain every time he twisted it or strained himself too much, but it was better than the bedridden state he was in before. He could literally do nothing then, lest he want to burst a suture or give himself internal bleeding again. 

It was ironic, he supposed. Back then when Jeffrey scolded him for overworking himself when they didn’t need him to do so, he had brushed it off and continued to work. But then, when they needed him the most, he couldn’t be in action to do so. 

Ziyi spent the weeks watching the Retributation bustling around him. Xukun, Zhengting, and the rest of them went on their mission, and he couldn’t help at all with it. Yanchen and Xingjie and most of the others were moving them from their main base to their temporary base, and he could do nothing but try to be as cooperative and quiet as possible when they wheeled him out, even if his abdomen throbbed each time he moved. Chengcheng was overworking himself and avoiding an increasingly nervous and upset Justin, and he couldn’t be there for his two little brothers to help them out of it. 

And, Jeffrey hadn’t come to see him ever since he stormed out on him after his surgery.

He sighed, continuing to hobble from the kitchen to the office. It wasn’t fair. Yanchen got shot five times in the leg and apparently all missed the more important veins enough to let him walk weeks before he could even hobble. Ziyi got stabbed one solid time and it was deep and precise enough to cut into an organ. Mubo never failed to remind him that it was a near miracle that he was still alive. 

The halls were quieter with the others gone, he thought. He didn’t realize how much of a difference Zhengting and his group coming back to them had made until he had felt what it was like with them gone again. Zhengting wasn’t there to scold the rest of his kids and banter with the rest of them, Wenjun wasn’t there to quietly muse with Linong in the medical wing after the boy was done with his missions, Yanjun and Zhangjing weren’t there to be in-love-but-not-in-love. And Xukun wasn’t there.

Ziyi passed a training center, where he caught a glimpse of Chaoze and Dinghao showing Xinchun how to roundhouse kick. Quanzhe was crowing delightedly from the side, eating a popsicle. He felt a pang to join them, join anyone really, to be involved again with his life. 

Though they all came to visit him and talk to him and take him around, it felt like he was disconnected from the rest of them without his work and without the few people he trusted enough to tell everything. Xukun especially. For as long as it mattered, Ziyi had Xukun with him, both of them struggling with their own demons, and both of them equally willing to help the other.

He wondered what Xukun was doing now, with Zhengting by his side again. He felt the all-too-familiar clench in his chest as he worried over what would happen if his best friend opened his heart to Zhengting again. Ziyi wasn’t sure if he could piece Xukun back together a second time; they hadn’t even touched each other since that last time, when Xukun kissed Zhengting when the man had first come back to them. And the fear that Zhengting would find out about him and Xukun hung over him; it wasn’t that he was afraid of Zhengting (even if Zhengting could beat the shit out of him if he really wanted to, he had taken enough beatings to be used to it). It was more so that he would lose the trust that both of them had in him. Ziyi didn’t have too much to care about or too much to care for him.

For as long as Ziyi could remember, it was SM. It was training and fighting and guns and knives and blood and sweat and pain. He had been there the longest out of anyone: he had been born there. Born to an agent who had dumped him in the training centers as soon as he could walk. It was all he had known, until Yanchen and Xingjie and Xukun and Zhengting came along.

Those were the first people that made him think that there was something else to his life. Something that was good. Something that wasn’t just death. Ziyi realized it quick, and he clung to it, terrified that he would lose it again. 

He did lose part of it. Zhengting left. But at the same time, his leaving made him realize again that there was more. If Zhengting could leave behind his Ace title, if he could leave behind the rest of them, if he could leave behind  _ Xukun _ , he must have seen a better future for him and for the three other boys he took with him. It planted a seed inside of him to find more of what there was to life, and it kept him sane when one of the four people who he had first loved left them behind. It was the thing that kept him upright when he helped the others overcome their betrayal, their relief, their misery. 

It was the thing that let him help Xukun. Xukun needed him too much, and Ziyi needed him too. He needed that hope back, and this time, it was the hope that he could see a smiling, happy Xukun for the first time in years. And even if he didn’t get that in the end, Xukun was standing, hardened, and driven to make a better future for all of them.

Ziyi had been chasing it ever since.

Ziyi paused in front of the office door. It was a different office from the one he was used to-- the one back at their main base-- but it had the same feeling of responsibility and work around it. He hadn’t been inside it for a very long time. 

He pushed it open and looked around. It was generally the same, with all the filing cabinets and bulletin boards and whiteboards and computers and radios and technology. The desk at the front of the room as usual. 

He took a seat. Ziyi had been planning for what he was going to do on his first day back in work. Yanchen and Xingjie had told him that they had another issue to deal with, but that he shouldn’t be involved too much. Though Ziyi wanted to tell them that he had a responsibility to help as well, he saw the pleading look in both their eyes and decided to let it rest. Besides, they agreed to let him be the primary form of contact with the group currently on their assassination mission, and Ziyi was too antsy about what could happen to Xukun and Zhengting and Linong and the rest of them to decline.

He spent the next few hours listening in to their recordings and checking up on Zhangjing’s computer screens. It seemed like it had gone decently well, even if there was increased security and even if Linong had to kill a waiter spying on them. Ziyi had come to realize after he had gotten stabbed in the gut on his own land, that Byun Baekhyun was smarter and tougher than he had thought.

Finally, when there was nothing else he could rift through, and he had even anxiously peered over the dozens of honestly pointless missions Chengcheng was pushing himself to do, Ziyi leaned back with a sigh. The emptiness and loneliness and anxiousness was settling back in. Ziyi didn’t know what to do. 

Then, suddenly, there was a tap at the door. It was probably Xingjie coming to tell him that Mubo was going to scalp him or something for overexerting himself. Ziyi sighed and spun around. “I told Mubo already that I was going to--”

It wasn’t Xingjie.

It was Jeffrey.

Jeffrey was paler than he had been since Ziyi had last seen him, with dark eyebags painting his face. His mouth was pursed tightly, almost like he was biting the inside of his cheek. He held a plate of peeled apples in his hands.

Ziyi stared.

Jeffrey cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I thought I’d bring you some apples.”

“I can see that.” Ziyi smiled, though he doubted that it looked anything near genuine. Bewilderment flickered through his brain: why had Jeffrey suddenly shown up, after weeks of radio silence, to give him apples like nothing had happened? “Uh, do you want to put it there?” Ziyi gestured awkwardly to the table.

Jeffrey didn’t move.

Ziyi swallowed. “Or, do you want me to come get it? Don’t worry, I can walk now--”

Jeffrey walked forward until he was standing in front of Ziyi’s chair. Ziyi looked up at him.

“Why were you in here for so long?” Jeffrey’s face was flat when he spoke.

“I was working.” Ziyi shifted, then winced. His abdomen was working up again. Jeffrey followed the movement with his eyes.

“How was it?”

“Good?” Ziyi bit his lip, then decided to ask what had been bothering him for a long time. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

Jeffrey’s face, placid and pale, suddenly morphed. Ziyi watched as anger flooded his face, red creeping up his neck. “You’re destroying yourself.”

“I--”

“Why are you watching for Xukun’s team when there’s literally not going to be anything?” Jeffrey demanded. His voice was lowering in volume, his tone colder and colder. “Zhangjing told us to not do anything as to not arouse suspicion.”

“I’m just making sure--”

“You’re not making sure. You’re a workaholic that’s so miserable about who you are as a person that you try to please everything to make up for it. You’re injured, Ziyi, I can see you wince. Qin Fen has been telling me about how slow you’re recovering.” He gripped his plate of apples so tight that Ziyi could see the white outline of his knuckles. “And you’re _still_ _fucking working_!”

Ziyi shrunk back. Jeffrey was always the kind, quiet, gentle techie that he felt comfortable enough to rewind with. He was the boy who Ziyi had viewed as a sanctuary, a place where he could talk and be listened to, a place where he could relax. Jeffrey was safe. He became even more so when Ziyi woke up from his surgery and all he could remember were Jeffrey’s blurred features, his eyes red from crying, the clench of his fingers around his own. The angry boy with shining eyes in front of him wasn’t what he had seen before.

“Do you really love Xukun that much that you have to watch him every moment to see if Zhengting is going to take him back?” Jeffrey hissed. Ziyi felt his blood go cold.

“What?”

“You’ve slept with him before.” A hot tear ran down Jeffrey’s face, and he wiped it away brutally. “As soon as Zhengting left, you and Xukun started sleeping together. I know, Ziyi. I  _ know _ .”

“...He’s just my best friend.” Ziyi, on instinct, reached forward. Jeffrey was crying. An image flashed through Ziyi’s mind: Jeffrey, face dimly lit by hospital lights, tears and snot smeared all over his face, his chin bruised, his eyes red, standing by Ziyi. Ziyi groaned something, and there was a hand in his. 

_ “Don’t leave.” _

Then, in one swift motion, Jeffrey raised the apples above his head and smashed the plate onto the table. The plate shattered, sending shards scattering. One piece richoted back and cut across the back of Jeffrey’s hand. Ziyi stared at it, and felt an inexplicable will to grab it, to explain what he didn’t even know.

“You never think about yourself and what you want,” Jeffrey said bitterly. “It’s always been Xukun. It’s never you. It’s never…”

For a moment, he looked like he was on the edge of saying something incredibly important. His face screwed up in an emotion Ziyi didn’t understand, then left as quickly as it had come. 

“Jeffrey--”

“Don’t.” Jeffrey wiped at his eyes, blood trickling from the thin cut. “Just don’t.”

He spun around and rushed out of the room, leaving Ziyi lost and stunned, his chest hurting with a foreign pain, like it was being skewered by the pieces of the shattered plate all around him.

Ziyi looked down and saw a slice of apple at his feet. For some reason, he had never noticed how meticulously and carefully they had been peeled before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor jeffrey
> 
> love you guys, thank u for reading <3


	79. Justin

One thing Justin knew was that, despite Chengcheng’s outburst the other night, it would take more to force  _ him _ to stop trying to get him to talk to him. Chengcheng should know better than to think that Justin was going to just leave it there and not seek out the answers he needed to know.

Well, he suddenly remembered, maybe he didn’t know better. Chengcheng was always a stubborn oaf, and he didn’t exactly have the chance to tell Chengcheng that he wasn’t about to back down anytime soon. In fact, all he had shown him so far was his tear-stained, snotty face. 

He bit the inside of his cheek, feeling his face redden at the memory. He was too emotional that night, too fed up with his best friend’s antics. He had cried so easily, shamefully so. Justin hated crying.

The good thing was that now that he had gotten his frustration and sadness out of his system, he had the concentration he needed to figure out just why Chengcheng was being the stupid idiot he was. Chengcheng was barely around these days, so he had a lot of time to search for answers around the new base.

Justin thought about this when he was brushing his teeth in the medical wing’s sterile-smelling bathroom. He spat out the toothpaste in his mouth and looked up in the mirror, only to wince at the sallow, sunken parts of his cheeks and the jagged scar that now ran across one of his eyebrows. Wenjun had said that he had probably gotten cut pretty deep above his eye with a knife, and if Justin thought hard back to the moments before he blacked out, he could recall a gush of red blinding him in one eye. He didn’t try to do that a lot, however; thinking to those moments made his head hurt.

And speaking of Wenjun. Justin wished that him and Zhengting could be back soon so that he could make sure they were safe. After spending too much time cooped up in a coma, he had the prickling feeling to not be separated from them for too long. But at the same time, whenever he thought that way, he felt bad for doing so. Zhengting and Wenjun were risking their lives to take out SM, to get revenge for  _ him _ . Ziyi had told him that Byun Baekhyun, the man Zhengting and Xukun were so driven to capture, had been the one who had worked with JYP and Wu Yifan. He had also been the one to lead an attack on their old base, and apparently almost killed him. Chengcheng had been the one to step in then to save him.

His head spun. It seemed like no matter what he thought about, it always came back to Fan Chengcheng. It was always him, that was the one thing he knew for certain now. It had always been him, and it would always be him. Justin’s every thought was for him, and he was a fool for realizing only when he wasn’t with him anymore.

Justin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and tossed his toothbrush into the cup. His aim was getting better at least. If only he could stand for longer without getting lightheaded and properly train to get some of his weight back.

Qin Fen nodded to him from where he was changing the dressing on Ziyi’s stomach. Justin didn’t try to disturb him; he had watched Ziyi wince enough times from the scarily deep cut on his stomach and didn’t want to aggravate anything. Chengcheng had told him enough times that his voice was grating to the ears.

***

“Xingjie, Xingjie, Xingjie,” Justin whined at an unresponsive Xingjie. 

The man in question was sitting cross legged on his bed, tapping away at something on a laptop. He didn’t bother to respond to Justin’s comments. Justin pouted and plopped down on the bed on the other side of the room, the neat one that belonged to Yanchen. A small part inside of him smirked remembering how much the man disliked other people sitting on his bed (except for Zeren, apparently. Justin had walked in on them making out in the room, and that was a sight he wished he could wipe from his memory).

“Xingjie! Xingjie! Jie-ge!” he tried again, louder.

Finally, Xingjie looked up from his screen. “What, Justin.”

“Do you have a second to talk?”

“Aren’t you already talking to me?” Xingjie sighed and closed his laptop screen. “Speak. What’s up?”

“Rude,” he sniffed, but beamed when Xingjie turned himself in bed to face him. “I want to ask about my coma.”

“Alright, what do you need to know?” Xingjie raised his eyebrows. “If you’re thinking of doing something for Zhengting and Xukun again I have to tell you know. Even if I thought you were capable at the moment, which you definitely are not, Zhengting would skin me if he heard that I let you do anything else but-”

“No, no, not that.” While he was a little affronted that Xingjie actually thought that he had any brilliant ideas to take down one of the most powerful mafia groups in the country, he supposed that he had reasonable evidence to think so. The last time he asked Xingjie about his coma, he had jokingly suggested tracking down Byun Baekhyun’s helicopter to get back at him for nearly killing a wounded, unconscious boy. And when he went to JYP to break Chengcheng out, he didn’t exactly ask anyone beforehand what they thought of the plan either. “It’s about Chengcheng.”

Immediately, Xingjie’s face shifted to one of sympathy, something that Justin was tired of seeing whenever he brought up Chengcheng. “Oh, Justin.”

“I need to know why he’s acting like this,” he pressed. “I need you to tell me everything about what he was like when I was in a coma.”

“Justin-”

“Please, Xingjie.” He tried to make his voice strong and powerful, but it came out small anyways.

Xingjie sighed and crossed the room. When he sat down on the bed beside him (take  _ that _ , Yanchen), he threw an arm around his shoulders. “We’ve told you the most we could understand. Chengcheng, he was with you almost every second of the day. He would just stare at you for hours, lost in his own mind, and even when he was doing some work-- reading, writing, coding, whatever-- he did it with you.”

“I know that.” Justin grit his teeth. “But what I don’t get is why if he was so  _ heartbroken  _ like everyone seems to like to say, when I was out, he’s acting like the biggest asshole now that I’m awake.”

“They aren’t wrong for saying that,” Xingjie said gently, tightening his hand around his shoulder and knocking his cheek against Justin’s temple. “I even thought that, and I don’t know Chengcheng nearly as well as Xinchun, Quanzhe, or the rest of you. Yanchen too, he thought that there was just something wrong about Chengcheng. He was so…”

“I got it.” Justin didn’t want to hear about how much Chengcheng apparently cared about him. If he cared about him, he would be around now that Justin was awake. Not confusing him by disappearing for days on end and screaming at him that he never wanted to see him again.

Xingjie looked at him, as if deciding on what to say to not hurt him anymore than he already was. “Just, give him time, Justin.”

“But how much more time does he need?” Justin gritted out. “It’s been weeks with radio silence. And the one time he talks to me, it’s to tell me that he doesn’t want to see me anymore or some shit like that.”

“He said that?” Xingjie studied him. “You know that he doesn’t mean it.”

“I want to know that! But I can’t when he’s avoiding me and not letting me say what I need to say to him, especially when I’m hurting so bad!” Justin burst out. 

Xingjie was silent for a few moments. Justin sat in a whirl of his thoughts, until one specific question floated to the top of his mind, one that he hadn’t asked yet, and one that perhaps would answer the questions he needed answered. “Do you know why I woke up, Xingjie?”

“I’m not a medic, so no, Justin.” He frowned. “Why? Do you think there’s something that you need to share? Maybe not with me, but with Mubo or Qin Fen?”

“It’s not like that,” Justin said slowly. “I don’t think it’s anything medical related at all.”

“What is it then?”

“Promise me you won’t laugh.”

“I promise.”

“I just knew suddenly that I had to come back.”

Xingjie pushed him away slightly and stared at him. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, I just… It’s hard to explain.” Justin fumbled over his words. He hadn’t attempted to explain what he had felt yet, and no one tried to make him. But the words boiled in his throat, itching to be let out. “It’s just like I said. I was gone, but something told me that I needed to come back.”

Xingjie was silent for a long moment. 

“So what I need to know right now is what was by my side, or what exactly happened on the night that I woke up. What happened?”

Xingjie answered with another question, the words slow and careful. “Justin, do you remember who was by your side when you woke up?”

Justin stopped. 

Chengcheng. It was Chengcheng, crying. Justin had never seen him cry before then, but he was crying. 

It was always him.

***

He didn’t ask anything more about it after then. Instead, he asked Xingjie what he and Yanchen had been working on for the past few days, only to get a tired sigh. It seemed like he didn’t want to share, so Justin hadn’t probed any more, even if he wanted to. The bags under Xingjie’s eyes were getting darker, and so were Yanchen’s. He wished that he could help them, but something told them that whatever they were dealing with, it was their own fight.

He spent the rest of the day with Ruibin and Xiao Gui, third-wheeling until Xingjie finished what he was doing and joined them to make him fourth-wheel. He wanted to make fun of all three of them for whatever was between them, but didn’t dare. Xingjie and Ruibin were some of the scariest people he knew when they were angry, and Xiao Gui was too smart to not make his life a living hell.

But also, he didn’t have the heart to do so. He watched as Xingjie joined Xiao Gui and Ruibin’s company, worries and anger melting away into nothing, and wished instead that he had his own company to do the same. 

He missed Chengcheng the most then.

Later that night, after Mubo had caught him in the kitchen and had dragged him back into bed, Justin sat up in bed. He could hear Mubo and Qin Fen talking in low voices in the room across the medical wing, and he could hear Ziyi breathing heavily in his sleep in the bed across from him. Everything was still.

He swung his legs out onto the cold floor and slipped his feet into his shoes. He would need to be quiet, very quiet, if he was going to do what he needed to do.

Chengcheng had taken Yanchen’s motorcycle again for the mission he had chosen to go on today. Justin knew because he had checked, and because he had spent dinner sitting with Quanzhe listening to Yanchen complain that he hadn’t been on his motorbike for a good month now. That meant that Chengcheng had to park it in the garage for Yanchen’s vehicles, and that Justin had a place to wait for him to come back.

He didn’t need the IV today, but he wasn’t sure if his legs would support him for as long as he needed them to, so he grabbed a crutch leaned up against the door. He could use it if it got too much for him.

Waiting for Chengcheng was always the same ordeal. He’d lean on the wall, trying his very best to not doze off, letting the mess of emotions overtake him, until it felt like he was standing at the edge of a whirlpool, struggling to not be dragged in.

Chengcheng had been the one to hold him back, to keep him stable and brave and most of all, safe. He needed him.

Finally, he heard the garage door creak open. He straightened the best he could, staring directly forward so that Chengcheng wouldn’t be able to avoid him when he opened the door.

It worked. Justin looked directly into his eyes when he came in, and didn’t tear them away. He felt his chest swell and ache and fight against itself, but forced himself to stand tall.

This time, when Chengcheng looked away and tried to brush past him, he was ready. He was weak and untrained, but he was desperate, so when he hooked a leg under Chengcheng’s and pulled, he succeeded in stumbling him.

Chengcheng fell forward, and in the same instead, Justin turned and braced him with one of his arms, aiming to flip him and use his body weight to slam him to the ground. However, before he could do so, Chengcheng grabbed his arm and pulled it across his chest, forcing him to jerk forward. Justin tried to stabilize himself by putting a leg forward, but Chengcheng kicked it out under him.

With nothing to hold him back, Justin fell with a hard thump on the ground, the force of the impact knocking the wind out of his lungs. He snarled and tried to get up, but Chengcheng was there, one knee pressed into his shoulder, the other pressed to his hip, almost immediately.

“I told you that I didn’t want to see you again. What are you still doing here?” Chengcheng’s eyes were like ice.

“And I thought you knew me better than to think that I would back down like that.” Justin struggled to push him off, but Chengcheng was too strong and he was too weak. He flopped back down.

“What don’t you understand about staying away from me?”

“Why don’t you get that we need to fucking  _ talk _ , Fan Chengcheng?” He gritted, glaring at the boy on top of him. “You’re fucking avoiding me and I need to know why?”

“Why?” Chengcheng snarled. “Because I don’t want to see you.”

“You know that’s not it.” And all of a sudden, all of the fight rushed out of him. Justin leaned back, unable to keep the angry look on his face any longer. He put his hands on Chengcheng’s arms. “Please, Chengcheng.”

Chengcheng twisted his arms out of his hands and leaned down. “It is all there is to it.”

“No it isn’t.” Justin tried again, hands on Chengcheng’s thighs. His voice came out soft and tired. “If that was all there is to it, you wouldn’t watch over me when I was in that coma, you wouldn’t protect me with your life when SM broke in, you wouldn’t shut yourself off from everyone.” Quiet, in a voice softer than he even thought was possible for him, “You wouldn’t be crying by my side when I woke up.”

His words hit Chengcheng, and a second later, his face twisted to one of horror. It was gone moments later, but Justin was sure that he had seen it. Chengcheng’s face became even more stony and cold. 

Before he could protest, Chengcheng leaned down, eyes narrowed. And suddenly, it was like they were switched, with Justin pinning Chengcheng to the ground, his face centimeters from his. It was like when they first met, when Justin had beaten a disabled Chengcheng to the ground and had saved his life.

“You want to know why I don’t want to see you?” Chengcheng hissed. In one swift motion, he yanked Justin’s shirt up to his shoulder. “Do you see these scars, Justin?” He jabbed a finger at the line across his side, the star shaped marks left behind by bullet holes on his stomach and under his chest. “Do you know why you have them? Because of me! You have them because of me!”

Justin was becoming lightheaded from the position, but Chengcheng pressed down harder, leaned his face into his. Justin couldn’t look away from the crazed gaze he had in his brown eyes, couldn’t avoid the feeling of his breath against his mouth. 

“You know why I was crying?” Chengcheng said, his teeth gritted. “Because you woke up. And right before then, I was the one who killed you.”

“What?”

“I unplugged you.” Chengcheng shoved him one last time, leaving him gasping on the floor. He stood, unable to look at him again. “I don’t want to see you again, I’ll say it one last time. Please, Justin. Please.”

He turned and padded down the hall. Justin watched him go, his throat constricted, his heart feeling like it would break in two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh justin.


	80. Xukun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this was late. i feel like a lot of u have been waiting for this chapter...

The first step was to take out the guard responsible for monitoring the security system. 

Xukun nodded at Yanjun and Zhengting behind him. The security room was on the first floor of the main hotel, right beside one of the back entrances. While Xukun suspected that usually, the place wouldn’t be swarming with guards, it wasn’t a usual night; Byun knew that they could come, and he had amped up the men watching the system. Both of them knew that it was only after the guards surrounding the security system were taken out that Zhangjing could manipulate it to their advantage.

There were around ten armed men stationed in front of the computers, Xukun guessed from where he was crouched behind a large electrical box.

“Eleven men,” Zhengting breathed into his ear. He had been one off; in the dark, Zhengting’s eyes had always been better than his. “With the three of us, that would be easy work.”

“It would, if they weren’t all carrying guns.” Xukun scowled at the sight of the rifles and pistols dangling from their arms. It would make carrying out a stealth mission much more difficult.

“We could use a distraction again.” Zhengting sighed and turned to nudge Yanjun in the shoulder. “What do you think?”

“Maybe.” Yanjun tilted his head to one side, his silver hair glinting under the dim moonlight. “I was the one who checked into the hotel in the first place, and the fact that they even let me in means that I’m not on Byun’s databases.”

“I was hoping that we wouldn’t have to send you right into danger.” Xukun bit the inside of his cheek. “But there are more guards than I expected. And they’re armed too.”

“That’s my job. I came dressed the part, didn’t I?” Yanjun gestured to the crisp white shirt and black dress pants. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

Xukun pondered for a moment, staring at the men pacing back and forth in front of the security room doors. If they wanted a silent take-down, they’d have to risk Yanjun, create a small diversion so that Zhengting and himself could take them down without shooting them. 

“Yanjun, when I say go, you circle back and walk up to the doors. Talk to them, lie to them, do anything that will give me and Zhengting enough time to try to take them out without having to shoot them,” he decided. He shifted his weight from one foot to another. 

Yanjun nodded. “How are you guys going to do that?”

“Knives,” Zhengting answered enigmatically, shifting his arm so that the blade strapped to it glinted. “Lots and lots of knives.”

Xukun rolled his eyes. “That, or just a silent take-down. Depends on where and how you lead them away, Yanjun.”

Yanjun nodded, beginning to shift backwards, when Zhengting suddenly said, “Wait, we should tell Zhangjing to cut the alarms first. It would be bad if they set them off before we could take all of them out.”

“Good thinking, Zhengting.” Xukun smiled at an evidently pleased Zhengting. It was like him to think of the things that Xukun missed, and vice versa. “We’d have to cut them at the right time though. We don’t want to cut them early and have them notice.” 

Zhengting turned to Yanjun. “Can you tell Zhangjing when we want them cut? You’d time it the best.”

Yanjun hesitated for a moment, which was unlike him. Xukun furrowed his brows at the flicker of fear run across his face; Yanjun was not one known for his nervousness. He looked to Zhengting for help, only to see the man give him a slight shake of the head.

“Or, I could do it. It shouldn’t make too much of a difference,” Zhengting said quickly.

Yanjun paused for a moment longer, then shook his head almost brutally. “No. You’re right. I’d be in the best position to do so. You and Kun focus on taking the guards out without getting hurt.” He turned away from them as soon as he finished speaking, but Xukun could see that his pupils were quivering even in the darkness.

Zhengting laid a soothing hand on his leg, his features soft and careful. “Please stay safe, Yanjun. Be careful.”

Yanjun didn’t turn his face back towards them, his voice coming back to them muffled as he turned and began to shuffle away. “You too. Stay safe.”

Xukun looked helplessly towards Zhengting, but the man shook his head again and he let it rest.

When Yanjun was out of sight and Xukun could hear the light tread of his feet as he moved away to loop back, he leaned into Zhengting. “What was that about?”

“Zhangjing,” he answered simply.

Xukun furrowed his brows. “I thought they talked it out earlier.” While Yanjun and Zhangjing hadn’t talked in days now, he had seen the two of them speak in the bathroom and assumed that they were fine. Zhangjing and Yanjun  _ always _ reconciled after every spat, and he assumed so when Yanjun brushed out a moment later, hardened and asking when they were going to leave.

Zhengting shook his head. “His eyes were red, and I saw Linong creep in afterwards. Nongnong probably wanted to comfort Zhangjing.”

“Did he?” Xukun jerked back. He hadn’t noticed at all, too occupied with making sure everything was set up before they left. He’d exchanged a few words with Wenjun too, the ever-growing suspicion that the man had more feelings for Zhengting than he was letting on filling the rest of his focus.

Zhengting nodded gently. “They really need to talk it through.”

They did, he supposed. Yanjun and Zhangjing had danced around each other for years, their feelings for each other obvious to everyone except for themselves. He still hadn’t forgotten the only time he had seen Lin Yanjun cry, when he had just rescued Zhangjing from the SM base he was being held, and the fact that Zhangjing could only calm down with Yanjun. 

A wave of guilt washed over him. Despite being their leader, he hadn’t noticed the problems his teammates were going through. Zhengting had though. So typical of Zhengting, always so caring and kind. It was one of the reasons Xukun wondered sometimes, in the ungodly hours of the night, what it would have been like if Zhengting stayed, if charismatic, kind Zhengting was the one leading the Retributation and not himself. Ziyi would say that he was the best leader they could have had to get them all out of SM alive, but he wasn’t so sure. How could he be the best leader when he was all over the place, unable to keep the people he cared about or even himself from breaking apart?

Zhengting laid a hand on Xukun’s arm, squeezing lightly. “Stop thinking whatever you’re thinking. Whatever it is, it’s not as serious as you think it is.”

Xukun looked up to see a pair of soft brown eyes peering kindly back down at him. So fucking kind, all the time. “It’s just… I didn’t even notice Yanjun and Zhangjing were going through something, and I’m the  _ leader _ , Zhengting. The  _ leader _ .”

Zhengting placed his other hand on his shoulder. “And a fucking good one, for all it’s worth. Don’t worry so much. You’ve been working your ass off trying to make sure all of us are safe and well.” His eyes glinted. “Don’t think I don’t know how late you sleep, even if I’m the one camping out at Wenjun’s room for most of the nights.”

Xukun managed a smile. “It’s not an excuse to not notice these things. You did, didn’t you? And I’ll bet that you’re even more worried than me about everyone.”

Zhengting scoffed. “Don’t talk like that. I worry because that’s just who I am. I’ll never stop worrying about all of them. They’re like my kids, Xukun, you know that. I couldn’t be a leader though, not like you did, when you left SM.”

Zhengting must have seen the shadow cross his face, because he paused and shook his head. “When I left, it was because I wanted something for myself. It wasn’t because I was trying to achieve something greater like you did. Don’t think too low of yourself Xukun. There’s no other leader of this group than you. They all know that.”

“You-” Xukun began, then cut himself off. Zhengting was peering at him with so much kindness and softness that he couldn’t help but feel the fireworks start bursting in his chest, filling him with warmth and trust no one else could give him. 

It was always Zhengting. Xukun reached forward and brushed a lock of hair out of Zhengting’s face. “I wanted something for myself too, when I left.”

This time, it was Zhengting who had a shadow cross his face, but he didn’t push it. Instead, Zhengting grasped his wrist and squeezed it tight. “Stay focused on the mission, Kunkun. Try not to worry about anything else. I need you alive.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

Zhengting studied him, and for a few suspended moments, Xukun thought that he would lean in and kiss him, simple and sweet yet so powerful, just like Zhengting himself. Like kissing a rose, twisted with thorns, soft and exhilarating all at the same time. He could have done it, just leaned forward and closed the gap between them, but he didn’t. Instead, he didn’t something else.

“My family,” he began. Bewilderment filled Zhengting’s face for a fraction of a second at Xukun’s abrupt comment, but smoothed out when he continued on. “I remember them, vividly. A father and a mother, and a little brother.”

“I was eleven when SM took me away from them. My mother was crying, and my father was fighting them, but they hit him and he went down too easily. My little brother was screaming his head off, and I was trying to get back to them, but I couldn’t get back to them.” He shivered involuntarily. “I don’t know why they came to get me. Maybe my family offended them somehow, or maybe they had a deal they forgot about. It didn’t matter. They just came and got me one day, and that was that.”

“They took me and dumped me in SM. You weren’t there yet, and they were just finishing up the last round of trainees, so I was one of the newer ones. Ziyi was there, and so were Yanchen and Xingjie. I think Yanjun was there before me as well, but I never really interacted with anyone outside of our roommates, so that was that.”

“Then, you came and--” Xukun’s breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure where all the words were coming from or why they were-- he’d never,  _ ever _ told Zhengting this before-- but they came to him almost naturally, flooding past him and into the cool night air. Maybe it was because Zhengting had finally told him a few nights ago what exactly it was that plagued his nightmares of his past, had finally trusted him enough to reveal the source of more than a decade of pain. Maybe it was because it was Zhengting, and because Xukun--

He stopped again. The words lapped at his consciousness like waves against a shore, but he forced them back. He wasn’t sure what he could say to Zhengting so that he would understand. That when Zhengting came, it was like happiness had come back into his life, like there was something to look forward to every morning when he woke up, like there was someone else who truly understood him for who he was and who would care for him despite anything, who. 

Who, Xukun thought, very very carefully, felt like home.

Zhengting seemed to understand the dilemma he was in, because he bent down lower and peered closely at his eyes. “Did you ever think of going back?”

Xukun shook his head. “They’re no longer a part of my life. I don’t belong in theirs anymore.”

It was the truth of it. Cai Xukun stopped being the innocent, hopeful, cheerful eleven year old boy he was when he got taken to SM. His life was assassination, that was the truth of it. Even if he believed he could and would do more, there was no leaving the truth. He would only endanger them by seeking them out again, and, if they were even alive, he simply didn’t think that they’d want him back after knowing of what he’d done in his life.

“I’m okay with it,” he added on truthfully. “I closed that door a long time ago. It doesn’t hurt me as much anymore.”

“That doesn’t mean that I can’t feel for you.” Zhengting leaned forward more. From his angle, Xukun could see his eyelashes the best, fanning over his beautiful, kind eyes. “I’m sorry, Kunkun.”

Then, he was hugging him, his arms wrapping surely around him, pulling him close. Xukun breathed him in, smelled warmth and safety and  _ home _ .

The truth was this: Zhengting had appeared when he thought there was nothing else left for him in the world, and Cai Xukun had fallen irreversibly and uncontrollably for the boy with the beautiful, kind eyes and open, selfless heart. He had been in love, still was, five years later, even if his heart and mind screamed in protest each time he admitted it.

The truth was that after that stormy night, when the guards had killed or nearly killed his father, had dragged him away and forced him into their car, and had told him that he was never going to see them again, Xukun had closed himself off, had become the icy man he was known for, had bred himself to become the undisputed King of SM. The truth was that he swore he would never make himself that vulnerable again, would never let himself free enough to have his heart broken. The truth was that Cai Xukun was afraid to ever trust or love again, but Zhengting came in and ripped all of that up, and he was so afraid when he realized it. On the rooftop, kissing Zhengting after a mission, feeling the sunrise, the taste of Zhengting in his mouth, he knew he had lost to him. That Zhengting had slipped through the barriers he had formed all around himself, had rendered Xukun an utter, desperate fool.

The truth was that he was in love with Zhengting when Zhengting left, and that it had burned him like holding a lighter under his heart. It had only reminded him of his foolishness that he had trusted, opened himself up just to be broken again. And even then, all he could do was laugh at himself; it wasn’t like he had been brave, had told Zhengting everything. Hell, it was only five years later that they were being honest with each other, were telling each other the seeds of deeply rooted pain, were trying to feel out what exactly made them go wrong, had caused old wounds to fester so violently.

“It really is funny, that we’re only telling each other this  _ now _ ,” Zhengting joked by his ear, his voice shaky. “Where was this five years ago?”

Xukun didn’t trust himself to answer.

Zhengting was in love with him, that’s what he knew. He wasn’t like what some of the others thought, stubbornly insisting that Zhengting had nothing to do with him just to mitigate the pain. The truth was that he loved too hard and he knew Zhengting did too, and that both of them weren’t honest enough to hold it. It needed two people to work, and both of them were pulling at it, refusing to let go of their pain. 

“I miss you sometimes,” Zhengting murmured in his ear. “Well, all the time, to be honest. You were… everything to me once.”

The honesty prickled at him, but Xukun thought he was past blaming Zhengting for leaving for the boys he loved like they were his own little brothers. It had been a defense mechanism, to think that he just simply wasn’t enough, one that he could drown out with training and, selfishly, with Ziyi. He knew that it wasn’t the truth though; it was something he loved most about Zhengting, how open he could be with love, how he could love and care for so many and make each of them feel like they were home. Xukun was only one of many who loved him for that.

“Well, maybe after this, we’ll finally get the chance to work stuff out. I know we keep talking, but it never seems to go anywhere unless we’re about to die,” he managed, and Zhengting laughed.

“You’re right. We need to focus on the mission here. Yanjun should almost be here. We need to focus.” He pulled back, but the corner of one of his lips was pulled up. “Promise me, we’ll talk this time. For real. After all of this is done, and we’re back at the base, we talk.”

Xukun never made promises to anyone except for himself. He was afraid of the  _ forever _ part of it, because it meant that he was tied to something, something that could hurt him again. But for Zhengting, it never was an option to say no anyways.

“I promise.”

“Good.” Zhengting spied over his shoulder. “I can see Yanjun. He should be moving any minute now, so we better get ready. But first.” Then, suddenly, he reached forward, cupped his cheek with one hand, and placed a soft kiss on his mouth.

It was the first kiss they’d shared since agreeing to begin to work everything between them out, one that promised (promises again) hope, forgiveness, understanding. Xukun’s heart beat painfully, clenching on itself with the love it had for the boy in front of him. It was only when he pulled back that it relaxed, and Xukun could nod.

Zhengting nodded back, then without waiting for an order, pulled himself over the electrical box with a light thump. Xukun followed suite. He could hear Yanjun beginning to chat up the guards; Zhangjing would have cut the alarms. It was the perfect opportunity.

They crept along the wall, thankfully shielded by the dark of the night and the guards’ irritation with the indignance Yanjun was showing them. Then, only a few meters away from the nearest guard, Yanjun’s face tilted up, the faintest smirk playing on his lips, and Xukun lunged.

He grabbed the nearest guard in a headlock and ran a blade along the back of his hand, taking the opportunity to kick the gun out of his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Zhengting was doing the same thing, knocking out a guard with a solid kick at the back of the head. The man fell with a thud, and in the same moment, Yanjun kicked the gun out of the arms of the guard that was left. The gun hit the ground and in the same moment, Yanjun had slipped on his brass knuckles and sunk a hard hit in the man’s cheekbone.

Zhengting was fighting again, punching a man and trying to avoid the knife coming his way. There was another guard, a little off, with his gun pointed at the two of them, not daring to shoot in case he hit his own ally. Xukun bit the inside of his cheek and ran for him, refusing the possibility that Zhengting could be shot. The man noticed him and raised his gun for him instead, but Xukun lunged at him and kicked the gun away, turning back around and whipping his leg across his face with a sickening crack. 

He turned when he was sure he was out, only to see Zhengting on the ground, a guard pressing the gun down on him, Zhengting pushing back up with all his might, trying to twist it out of his grasp. Yanjun had another guy against the wall, beating the daylights out of him, so he didn’t notice. Xukun rushed forward, and with a well-aimed throw, sunk a short blade into the back of the man’s neck.

The guard slumped, dousing Zhengting with blood, and it was with shaky hands that Xukun pulled Zhengting’s blood drenched arms up and standing again.

“Thanks,” he muttered, wiping at his forehead and leaving a dried red mark behind. “Help Yanjun.”

Xukun whipped his head around. Yanjun had hoisted the guard he was fighting before up as a sort of shield, pacing closer and closer to the last two guards in front of the security room. There was a bruise blooming across his cheek and his lip was bleeding, but it didn’t stop him from fixing the tantalizingly dangerous look he was famous for on them. 

Zhengting made a brash movement, an attempt to sprint for him to help him somehow, and the guns went off. Xukun dove to a side, pinning Zhengting to the ground, and at the same time, Yanjun raised the guard to cover his face. The bullets didn’t hit him directly, but one grazed his side, making Yanjun wince.

He turned to call at them. “Kun! You take Zhengting and go! I’ll hold them off here and shut the thing off!”

Zhengting struggled to push Xukun off him. “I’ll stay to support you!”

Yanjun shook his head. “There’s no way no one heard that! There’s probably more back up coming! Just go! Focus on the mission, don’t worry about me!”

Zhengting looked conflicted, but Xukun bit his lip and yelled back. “Hold them off, Yanjun!”

Another shower of bullets, also blocked by Yanjun hoisting the guard above his head. Xukun dragged Zhengting along with him in an arc behind Yanjun’s form to crawl through the door. Yanjun was right. Now that they had failed to do a silent take-down, back up would be coming. They didn’t have a moment to waste.

He let go of Zhengting’s arm when he was sure they were safe, pinned behind a door. Yanjun was still out there, now reaching for his own gun. Xukun forced himself to look away; Yanjun was more than capable of handling a life and death situation. He had to trust that he would be okay.

“Kun,” Zhengting began, but Xukun shook his head.

“We have to go, Zhengting. Any more time lost... We have to  _ go _ .”

“Yanjun is injured though. He can’t handle another wave of soldiers on his own--”

“Zhengting.” Xukun tightened his grip on Zhengting’s shoulders, wrenching him forward to face him. “Wenjun, Linong, and Zhangjing could  _ all _ be dead if we don’t get moving.”

Zhengting paused, a shadow falling over his face. Xukun could see him swallow, then stand. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

They ran for the stairs.  _ The elevators aren’t safe _ , he heard Zhangjing’s voice echo through his mind.  _ They could cut them and you’d be stuck _ .

They’d have to rush thirty floors up, if Zhangjing’s predictions of Byun being in one of the top floors was correct. Gruelling work, even on its own, without having to keep an eye out for guards or traps. Xukun swallowed before beginning to run up the flights of stairs, being careful to not miss a step in his haste.

Zhengting ran beside him, sweat beginning to trickle down his face. But his face was tight and determined, the face he only had when he was on a mission, amplified because Zhengting functioned on love, and because there was nothing else but love that was at the heart of it when Xukun reminded him what was at stake.

The run up the stairs was relatively peaceful. Zhangjing must have cut the security system in the end, because there weren't as many soldiers as he had expected. Him and Zhengting took out the few stationed every couple of floors with relative ease, escaping with a few bruises and throbbing limbs but nothing more.

When they reached the thirtieth floor, Zhengting ground to a stop. “Let’s start searching the floors. He should be on one of these.”

Xukun nodded, following him as he pushed open the nearest door and stepped through into the corridor.

The Guixin hotel was even more beautiful than he had thought, with swooping chandeliers and elegant yet modern furnishings. It was oddly quiet, however, and Xukun thought to ask Zhangjing what made it so.

“Zhangjing?” He paged in, only to hear static. “Zhangjing?” He tried again.

Zhengting shook his head at him. “Stop trying. He’s probably not there.”

Xukun furrowed his brows. “Why?”

“Yanjun,” he said in explanation. “We took a while to climb all those stairs, so Yanjun would have for sure begun fighting whatever back up the guards called. There is no way Zhangjing and Linong wouldn’t go assist him once they realized the situation he was in, even if they’re still working stuff out.”

At the end of the day, Zhangjing, Yanjun, and Linong would still be the inseparable trio, blindly trusting each other: a family. Xukun nodded. “Then let’s be more careful then. I’m not sure why it’s so quiet up here.”

Zhengting grunted, then muttered, “I hope Wenjun is going to be fine.”

Xukun didn’t respond.

They crept along the hallways, searching the thirtieth floor for any sign of their target. When nothing came up, they moved to the thirty-first floor, and searched that floor too.

It was so like when they were younger, prowling on missions, adrenaline spiked to the max. Xukun leaned against Zhengting and swivelled his head left and right, carefully staking out what was behind each corner.

“Not this floor,” Zhengting commented. “Let’s go to the next one.”

Xukun followed him to the thirty second floor. The silence followed them too, eerie and strangling. He almost wanted to tell Zhengting to stop, to figure out just why it was so quiet. But he didn’t have the chance.

Instead, as they pushed open the door to the thirty second floor, a shower of bullets rained their way.

Zhengting yanked the door half shut, the bullets sinking into the metal with odd thunks. A cold sweat broke out on Xukun’s back, the hairs on his neck prickling from grazing hands with death.

“A trap,” Zhengting growled. He turned back to Xukun, and with an almost somber tone, said, “Don’t die.”

“I won’t.”

“Good. We still need to talk after this.” And with that, Zhengting threw the door open and lunged inside for behind the couch in the lobby. Xukun followed suit, diving behind the furniture just as another wave of bullets scattered his way.

“You get the one on the right,” Zhengting panted, then flipped over the couch for the guard on the left. He delivered a kick at the side of his face before the man could get his gun reloaded, and Xukun followed him with a punch at the other man’s head.

There were more though. As soon as Xukun finished with the guard, he turned to find himself being stared down by another group of soldiers. There were about ten of them, and all of them were dressed in different attire from the regular guards. Then, he looked up and realized why.

Byun Baekhyun, his perfect face icy, peering at them over his group of agents. Xukun had never seen the man in the flesh before, and Yanchen and Zeren’s description of him hadn’t done him justice.

He was beautiful, like a shard of glass under the sun. There was no question in how he could have become the ace of the socialite department in SM in his time, with just how terrifyingly pretty he was. Instead of the tight tuxedo Yanchen had said he was dressed in last time, he had a looser, dark blue suit on, the outline of a gun on his chest. Xukun didn’t doubt that he had an array of knives in his jacket as well.

Byun recognized him, he could tell. His piercing eyes fixed upon him, cold but knowing, and all of a sudden, Zhengting was yelling at him. 

“Take the soldiers! I’ll take Byun!”

Zhengting rushed forward before he could agree, and in the same instant, Xukun’s entire body spiked with fear. Zhengting was running solo for one of the most dangerous men in all of Asia, uncaring about the soldiers now turning to face him, completely trusting that Xukun would protect him.

He swore under his breath. Zhengting knew that Xukun would be forced to protect him, to fight the soldiers instead of an arguably much more dangerous Byun Baekhyun. Zhengting knew him too well.

Fighting the group of soldiers was like a haze. Xukun fought hard, kicking and slashing until his shirt was drenched with blood he didn’t know belonged to himself or the soldiers. But his eyes were on Zhengting, how he seemed to be barely dodging every attack Byun swung on him, lunging from side to side, his graceful style of fighting like a ribbon twisting in blood.

He wanted to scream when Byun cut at his shoulder, and Zhengting winced, stumbling back with gritted teeth. He wanted to yell for Zhengting to get back, to hide while he protected him. To stay alive.

But Zhengting hadn’t been the Ace for nothing. He lunged back, quicker than a viper, and swiped at Byun with blades clenched between his fingers. Byun dodged them for the most part, but couldn’t avoid the slash at his arm when he twisted away.

Then, Zhengting was on him, grappling at him with his blades glinting under the light, his teeth and jaw clenched, desperately trying to overpower him. Byun pushed back equally as hard, and suddenly, they were falling. Byun bent and flipped Zhengting over his back. He hit the floor so hard, Xukun could hear the breath being knocked out of him. Xukun made a wild movement to lunge for him, to knock the knife Byun was now holding over him as he pinned him to the floor out of his hand, and in his brief moment of lost concentration, he felt a hot pain stab into his leg.

He looked down to see a knife slip out of his left calf and the corresponding gush of blood as it poured out of the stab wound. Xukun kicked the dying soldier away but couldn’t stop himself from faltering, straining to keep himself upright so that he could run for Zhengting, throw a knife at him, anything.

Byun was smarter than he had thought.

Just as Xukun had lunged for Zhengting, aiming to slam himself into Byun’s side and get him away from a battered Zhengting on the ground, Byun reached inside his jacket. However, instead of stabbing Zhengting like he had expected, the gun he retrieved from inside it was pointed at him. It was barely a second later that he was hit backwards. Byun had shot him.

Xukun felt the blood first, pouring from just under his ribs. The pain came next, hot and burning. Xukun hadn’t been shot in a while, so the pain caught him off guard, making him clench his teeth in pain. He coughed, the pain spiking, and sending blood drops across the floor. 

Zhengting looked at him in horror. Xukun grappled for him, but Byun ground down on him, pinning Zhengting under him securely, while keeping the gun trained on Xukun’s head. He peered down at Zhengting.

Stilted silence for a few moments, of which Xukun could only see Zhengting’s terrified eyes fixed on him, the barrel of the gun that would kill him between his eyes, the blood leaking out from his leg and chest with each pump of his heart.

Then,

“You had to come looking for me, didn’t you?” Byun said, quietly. His voice was smooth and tight. Zhengting struggled underneath him, but stopped when he saw him tighten his finger around the trigger pointed at Xukun. 

Xukun stared at Zhengting, and prayed, if anything, that  _ he _ would make it out alive.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey xukun said the L word so i consider that a win
> 
> love u guys


	81. Yanchen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i miss yanchen

It was with bated breath that Yanchen crept out of the room he shared with Xingjie and paced down the hall.

Technically, since they were the only occupants of their room now (they were only big enough to house two per room, so Xiao Gui moved in with Ruibin, a fact that delighted the two of them and caused Xingjie a tad of displeasure), he wouldn’t have to be so quiet. Xingjie was waiting for him in the garage and it was late enough for most people to be asleep. That is, if Zeren hadn’t been watching his every move for the past few days.

Ever since the woman had attacked Zeren, and Yanchen had found the piece of paper demanding an audience with him and Xingjie, the boy had kept an iron eye on what he did every day. Not that Yanchen could blame him. If their positions were reversed, and it was Zeren keeping a secret that possibly concerned him, he probably would have pestered him to no end too. But at the same time, he couldn’t find it in himself to sympathize; he hadn’t told Zeren the contents of the note for a reason. 

And while Zeren had lunged for the paper when Yanchen refused to show it to him, his arm still bleeding from the cut the woman had dragged across it, Yanchen was still arguably the stronger one, even with his injured leg, and tore it to shreds before Zeren could grab for it. The bad thing was that Zeren had nearly passed out from the blood loss and the sudden movements of his impromptu fight with Yanchen. The good thing was that Yanchen could take him home without having the boy try to grab and read the paper.

Back home, he had dumped Zeren into Mubo’s care before taking off to find Xingjie, shoving the paper at him, fuming, demanding what the hell happened to make Zhou Rui-- meek, quiet, kind _Zhou Rui_ \-- lash out at them the way he was doing.

“After I saw him for the first time,” he had begun to rant, slamming the paper on Xingjie’s desk, “you told me that we shouldn’t worry about him. Well, now he wants to see us. Do you want to fucking explain why?”

Xingjie rubbed at his eyes tiredly. The stress of maintaining the Retributation without Xukun and Ziyi was getting to him, manifesting in sallow skin and bags under the eyes, but Yanchen couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad. Zeren had nearly _died_.

“I thought it wasn’t anything,” he finally said.

Yanchen grit his teeth. “Not anything?” He put both hands on the table and leaned towards him. “Xingjie, she went for _him_ , not me. Why did Zhou Rui want her to target him?”

“I don’t know--”

“Yes you do!” Yanchen nearly yelled. “Zhu Xingjie, I saw that woman nearly slit my boyfriend’s throat in front of me, and you’re telling me that you don’t know anything?”

“Calm down--”

“No! You’re going to fucking sit here and tell me what the fuck happened when we left SM. It wasn’t that Zhou Rui didn’t want to leave with us, was it?”

Xingjie rubbed at his face again, frustratingly calm when Yanchen was so worked up. Then, after a long pause, he spoke again. “You’re right, it wasn’t just that he didn’t want to come.”

“Then what was it?” Yanchen leaned closer. “We were _friends_ , Xingjie. Why didn’t he want to come?”

“Simple.” He dropped his hands from his face. “I didn’t tell him that we were leaving.”

Silence.

Then, 

“And why was that?” Yanchen said in a controlled tone. 

“Potential,” he returned. He didn’t look at Yanchen’s eyes. “I thought… I thought that with us gone, he could finally be the Ace. Remember how he always wanted to be more recognized? I thought that he could do so when we were gone.”

“Xingjie,” Yanchen whispered. “ _SM_.”

“I know, I know.” Xingjie still couldn’t meet his eyes. “But I thought… I really thought he’d be better off--”

“I understand why he’s so angry now,” Yanchen said, cold. “If I trusted you the way he did, and just left without saying anything, I’d be hurt too.”

Xingjie didn’t say anything.

“You were so close, Xingjie,” Yanchen continued on. “Me, Gui, Ruibin, we were all friends, but it wasn’t like you and him, was it? He looked at you with stars in his eyes. I thought you could tell.”

“You think I don’t know?” Xingjie burst forth. “I fucking knew. He cared about us so much, me the most.” He swallowed. “I was the only one he trusted.”

Yanchen drew away, anger and disgust pooling at his gut. Maybe, when he wasn’t still shaken by nearly seeing Zeren die, when he wasn’t so tired and his leg wasn’t hurting so bad, and when he calmed down, he would understand what prompted Xingjie to do what he did, but for the moment, he didn’t.

“I thought you would know not to do that.” Yanchen turned away from his best friend, gritting his teeth and digging his nails into his palms. “How did it feel when Zhengting left us?”

Xingjie was silent.

Memories flooded back through Yanchen’s mind, thoughts that he had been brave enough to let go of, to forgive, after long talks with Zhengting and hours of apologies. Their dorm room at SM, silent and empty. Xingjie, crying in the shower. Ziyi, still under the covers. Xukun, beating the wall until his knuckles scarred to the bone. Yanchen at the center, desperately trying to pull them all back together while still aching with the absence of three others. 

“I know we promised to move past that time, and I’m all for that. I don’t know about you, but at least me and Zhengting talked, and we forgave each other for all the shit we had to go through. But, Xingjie, how could you forget the pain?” His lip trembled, he himself strangely close to tears. “I spent so long trying to get you all back together. Don’t you remember how long it took to heal Xukun? Don’t you remember how he nearly _killed himself_ trying to make himself better? Don’t you _fucking remember_ what he was like after the person he loved the most walked out of his life, without explanation? How the fuck could you do the same thing to Zhou Rui?”

“Yanchen--”

“You lied to me,” Yanchen plowed on. “I asked you, I fucking _asked_ you if Zhou Rui was coming, and you told me that he didn’t want to. Now, years later, after he nearly kills Zeren twice, I find out that he was abandoned by us.” He could almost laugh. “We were hurt so badly after Zhengting left, and _I_ was the one who kept you all together. Turns out, I was hurting someone else just as badly at the same time.”

He took a few angry steps forward, before remembering something.

“Keep this between us. No one else should get hurt because of this.”

Then, without waiting for Xingjie to respond, he brushed out of the room before he could say something to really make him cry.

  
  


It turned out, even when he was calm and saw that Zeren was going to be fine-- one arm bandaged but _fine_ \--, he couldn’t sympathize with what Xingjie had done. Even so, there was no one else he had to turn to. Even if he was still furious at him for what he did, even if he had lied to him and had kept the truth away from him, Xingjie was the only person he told and could tell. It wasn’t because of anything noble, like Zeren thought it was. It was because quite literally, he couldn’t risk anyone else knowing and getting hurt from it. If he was feeling a little more empathetic, he probably wouldn’t have shown Xingjie either, and had tried to handle it himself. He didn’t feel sorry for him, though.

So it was with a stony face that he gently pushed open the door to the garage and saw Xingjie leaning against one of the cars Jeffrey had tweaked to make faster, his face a mess of bright overhead lights and dark shadows.

“You ready?” Xingjie asked him. 

Yanchen patted the gun tucked away in his jacket and the row of knives along the inside of his sweater. “Let’s go.”

  
  


Yanchen wished that he had his motorcycle.

He hadn’t driven the thing in months now, his leg injury having held him back for the first part. Then, Chengcheng had begun to take it for his own missions early in the morning, returning late in the night, and Yanchen hadn’t gotten the chance to use it.

It would have been better, he thought. The wind whipping against his helmet, drowning out all sounds except for the purr of the engine, the only solid feelings the grip of his hands on the handlebars and the press of his legs against the seat: it was all enough to blow away any anxiousness he might have for whatever he had to do.

Instead, he was trapped in a car with his best friend, stony silence in the air. Yanchen was still angry enough to not want to speak to him other than the bare necessities they needed to plan out their trip to the warehouse, but it was nonetheless still awkward as fuck. 

Xingjie was looking straight forward at the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel. Yanchen cleared his throat.

“Do you think this is a trap?”

Xingjie looked momentarily surprised that Yanchen had broken his silence towards him, but said, as naturally as possible, “No, I don’t.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Intuition.” He shifted his hands on the wheel, squinting into the darkness ahead of them. “Zhou Rui wouldn’t send us a note like this if he just wanted to kill us.”

Bitterness spread across Yanchen’s tongue, even though it was him who brought the topic up in the first place. “And you know how he would react, even after ditching him for so many years?”

Annoyingly, Xingjie didn’t react to his cynical tone. “No, but I know that if he wanted to kill us, it’d be easier to just send more people to kill you and Zeren, or just tell Byun our current location without requesting an audience.”

Yanchen wanted to snap at him to not bring up Zeren, not when it was his actions that had nearly killed his boyfriend, but kept his mouth shut. There was no use snapping at him again, not when he knew that Xingjie regretted it.

“We’re here.” Xingjie nodded at the outline of buildings ahead of them.

Yanchen followed the motion to see that indeed, a vaguely familiar series of warehouses were blooming out of the darkness. Just like Zhou Rui had said in the note, it was a place that him, Xingjie, Zhou Rui, Ziyi, Xiao Gui, and on rare occasion, Zhengting and Xukun, had stopped at after long missions, when they needed to take a break, retie wounds or take a sip of water, the like. He hadn’t been there in years.

Xingjie seemed to know what he was thinking. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen this place, huh?”

“It’s too close to SM territory.” Yanchen peered out his window to see the rush of the dark river lining the warehouses. “We couldn’t afford to come this close.”

Xingjie pulled up beside the river and parked the car. “Get out here.”

Yanchen obliged him, stepping out into the night air. It was cool and slightly windy, but still tinged with dust, the flavour of the air that often accompanied the abandoned warehouses that they were about to trespass on.

“Which one was the one again?” He asked Xingjie, who was zipping up his jacket. His skin was pale in the night.

“The one second from the Northernmost house,” he answered, puffing his cheeks out. “We better head over.”

“How did you remember that?” Yanchen followed behind him, looking uneasily at the buildings around him. They seemed even older than he remembered, a fact that he had to remind himself, a little stupidly, was true. 

“Because it makes the most sense. Most of our missions with Zhou Rui were in the North, and we wouldn’t be stupid enough to go to the first warehouse coming back, when it would be the place any followers would check first.”

“You seem to remember a lot about our SM days,” Yanchen couldn’t help but bite. “Did you remember how it felt to leave Zhou Rui behind yet?”

Xingjie let out a long sigh, one that Yanchen brushed aside. They continued in silence after that. Yanchen wasn’t ready to forgive him yet, not before he got to hear Zhou Rui’s side of the story, and what prompted him to try to kill the boy he had grown to care about the most.

The warehouse was old up close as well.

“Let’s try the side door first,” Xingjie said, when they were at the garage door. “I’d rather not waste my strength trying to get this big door open.”

Xingjie was luckily right. The door pushed open easily, and Yanchen stepped in behind Xingjie, smelling rust, dust, and the stink of old blood. He winced, then looked around. Zhou Rui was nowhere to be found.

“Looks like we’ll have to wait a bit.” Xingjie walked nonchalantly to the center of the warehouse floor. Yanchen felt an inexplicable urge to pull him back.

“Are you sure that this is going to be safe?” He thought that he could deal with a random attack, with how alert he was, and how his leg was basically completely healed. But he’d rather not have to go back home and explain why he was beat up again. 

“I’m very sure. It doesn’t make sense for him to attack us now.” Xingjie paused in the center and looked around him. 

Yanchen snorted. “What you think makes sense doesn’t always hold to be true. You thought SM wouldn’t attack us, and we got a full frontal attack by Byun Baekhyun himself. You thought Zhou Rui would be better left behind, and look at us now.”

“This time, trust me.”

“Trusting you hasn’t proven to be the best idea, even if we are best friends.”

A few moments of silence passed. Yanchen strained his ears for any movement, but heard nothing. His eyes adjusted to the darkness though, and Xingjie’s pale frame came into view.

“Can you tell me one thing, though?” he suddenly asked. Xingjie turned towards him. “I get that you thought that leaving him behind could have given him more potential, but why didn’t you think bringing him with us would be better?”

“Oh Yanchen.” Xingjie sighed again. “How could I ask him to come with us? We were, what? Twenty agents? Twenty teenagers trying to escape the most powerful organization in all of Asia. How could I ask him to leave, not when he was finally finding his spot in SM-- something he’d always wanted-- and there was no guarantee any of us would survive leaving?” A tinge of desperation leaked into his voice, a sound that Yanchen only rarely heard from calculating, composed Xingjie. “Yanchen, there was only a very slim chance we would make it out alive, even with the skill set we have.” He kicked at the ground. “It’s a miracle, honestly, that SM hasn’t caught us or Zhengting’s group.”

That was true at least. When they left, Yanchen tried to look on the best side of things, and refused to think of the outcome that detailed just how many bones they would break in him if they were caught. Even if they had the most talented, skilled, experienced agents in SM with them, it was nothing against the force SM had. All they had was desperation.

“But Xingjie,” he murmured, still unwilling to let go. “Don’t you remember how much it hurt to get left behind?”

“I know.” Yanchen could see him sag. “Trust me, I knew.”

“Well, evidently you didn’t.” A voice emanated from the door. Yanchen whipped his head around, but he’d recognize that voice anywhere, after it had plagued his nightmares for days now.

Zhou Rui was standing, seemingly alone, in the doorway of the warehouse. He looked more beat up than he had seen him last, though he still had the same mask of stony coldness. The scar across his eye made Xingjie flinch.

“You say you knew what it was like getting left behind?” Zhou Rui raised his eyebrows. “It didn’t hurt you enough apparently.”

“Zhou Rui,” Xingjie breathed out beside him. He made a movement towards him, but Yanchen held him back.

“Why did you want to see us?” he hissed at him. Xingjie looked at him, protest on his face, and though Yanchen felt bad for greeting him with so much hostility, especially after being part of the group that had left him in the SM hellhole, what Zeren looked like under the assassin, the blade slitting up his arm, inches away from his neck, was fresh in his mind. 

Zhou Rui was unfazed. “This is the greeting I get, after years of not seeing you?”

“You saw me when you and Byun Baekhyun came to try and kill us.” Yanchen took a step towards him, making himself seem as threatening as possible. “And I think it was a greeting enough when you tracked down me and my companion in that mall and almost killed him.”

“I needed this audience.” Zhou Rui took a step forward, mirroring him. His gaze was hard; Yanchen saw none of the soft, kind man he had last seen in SM. “You wouldn’t even know if I was alive, if I didn’t do something like that.” He paused, then said bitterly, “You wouldn’t care either.”

“We would have--” Xingjie started behind him, but Zhou Rui cut him off.

“Shut the fuck up, Zhu Xingjie. Don’t give me that shit, not when you didn’t think I was worth enough to even tell me you were leaving.”

Xingjie looked like he wanted to respond, but his shoulders sagged. Yanchen hadn’t seen him like that in a very long time, and despite his anger at him, he didn’t like it. 

“So why are you here?” Yanchen asked Zhou Rui.

Zhou Rui smirked. “To save you. Even if you didn’t want to save me back in the day.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Retributation won’t last any longer.” He looked right at Yanchen. “I have all of your locations down. I know where each of you are, any time, any where. That means that soon, the rest of SM will too. You barely defended yourselves last time, when Byun led some of his forces against you, and that was only a fraction of the power Byun Baekhyun has himself.” He tilted his head to the side. “Trust me when I say this. Byun Baekhyun’s forces are the most powerful in all of SM. If he finds the need to exterminate you, none of you would survive.”

“So how come he didn’t kill a single one of us last time?” Yanchen gritted.

“And risk not getting Chanyeol back?” Zhou Rui chuckled. “You would be dead if he actually brought all of his agents against you. And get this: they all loathe you for leaving them behind, like me.”

Yanchen chose to ignore his words. “So?”

“I could tell Byun right now that Xukun and Zhengting are at the Guixin Hotel, where he usually goes to relax. He would find them and kill them in minutes.”

“Then why haven’t you done that?”

“I told you. Because unlike you, I still want to save all of you.” Zhou Rui took another step forward. “Byun is merciful. Trust me, because he chose me. He’d be merciful towards all of you, he would. You would be a great asset to him, you and Xukun and Ziyi and Xingjie and the rest of them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come back to SM. Come join Byun Baekhyun’s private agents, like I did. He would protect you.”

Yanchen opened his mouth to retort, but paused. _Protect_. The word was tantalizing, at the very least. If Zhou Rui was speaking the truth, then…

Yanchen could make sure the Retributation would be safe. He could make sure that Chengcheng wouldn’t have to be afraid that his family would attack him. He could make sure that Justin would never fall into a coma again. He could make sure that Qin Fen wouldn’t be thrown away and killed just because of a disabled back. He could make sure Ziyi wouldn’t have to have stab wounds that made all the blood drain out of his face. He could make sure that Xingjie didn’t have to work himself to the point where his skin looked translucent and his eyes pits in his face. He could make sure that Zhengting never had to leave them again to protect his kids.

He could make sure Zeren would be alive.

But something else, the part of him that was more rational, more realistic, knew that that wasn’t possible. 

“Fuck that.” He clenched his fists. “There’s no way.”

Zhou Rui was silent.

“We’re finally settled in, and finally free from SM, and you think we’ll believe any shit you say?” Yanchen grit his teeth. “If Byun really is merciful, why did he almost kill Ziyi? Why did you nearly kill Zeren, twice?” He took a step back. “You think your boss is going to let everyone back and protect them all? Do you think Zhengting is going to agree to come back, Zhou Rui, after SM almost slaughtered the kids he loved the most? You think Xukun will go back without Zhengting, especially now that Ziyi got cut open?”

“They don’t need to come back,” Zhou Rui whispered. “But you and Xingjie can. He’d let you.”

Yanchen shook his head. “You think I’ll come back after you tried to kill Zeren to talk to me?”

A shadow crossed Zhou Rui’s face. He looked past Yanchen and glared at Xingjie, who had stayed silent throughout the encounter. “What about you? Will you come with me?”

Yanchen looked back at his best friend and saw anguish painted across his face. Silently, he clenched his sweaty fists.

“No,” Xingjie said, after a long pause. “I can’t.”

Yanchen should have felt relief from the confession, that Xingjie wasn’t going anywhere. But all he felt was grimness.

Zhou Rui stopped for a long moment, seeming to compose himself. He closed his eyes; Yanchen could see him swallow. When he opened his eyes again and spoke, his voice was dripping with venom.

“I see, I see,” he spat at them. “You think you’re too good for all of us, do you? Finally found safety and freedom, far away from SM, have you? You think you’re fucking heroes, doing what you do now?”

Yanchen bit the inside of his cheek. Xingjie started, “Zhou Rui--”

“You’re the exact same people, nothing has changed.” Zhou Rui had stumbled back a few steps, breathing heavily. “We’re all the same kind of shit people, what makes you think that you’re too good for us?”

“We don’t think we’re better. We--”

“That’s why you didn’t think any of us were worth your time when you left, huh, Zhu Xingjie? You thought you were better than us, thought that only you were good enough to leave the hellhole, huh?” He sneered, pain breaking in waves across his expression. “What if I told Byun right now, what Zhengting and Xukun and them were doing? Their location? Byun was the best socialite SM has ever produced. You think Chen Linong’s pretty little lies would hold up against him?”

Hot, blinding anger rushed over Yanchen at the mention of Linong. He advanced towards him. “You have no right. No fucking right at all, not when Linong’s been the happiest I’ve seen him since SM--”

“What about us?” Zhou Rui retorted, mouth twisting into an awful shape, one part sneer and two parts agony. “You think we were happy when you left us? Surprise. When you left, SM nearly killed all of us trying to get info, thinking that we could contribute something we weren’t even fucking told.” He jabbed a finger at the scar across his eye. “How do you think I got this one, Zhou Yanchen? Do you know how it feels when someone cuts your face open with a hot knife, trying to get information you don't know? It scars, but your pretty little face wouldn’t understand, would it?”

Yanchen heard Xingjie’s sharp intake of breath behind him, and from the look on Zhou Rui’s face, he heard too.

“They were talking about exterminating all of us so that no one else would leave with the secrets. Do you know what it’s like, living like that?” Zhou Rui took a step towards them. 

Yanchen tried. “So you think trying to drag people like Linong and Zeren down, when they knew nothing about the plan for leaving SM until we actually left, is right?”

Zhou Rui scoffed. “Zeren, Zeren, Zeren. He seems to be pretty precious to you, if you could be this angry over a hit on him. You didn’t pay him much attention back at SM, even if he looked at you with hearts in his eyes and you slept a foot away from him. I couldn’t see well in the darkness last time I fought him, but did he grow up well? Finally caught your eye? Finally made you give a shit for the people who aren’t in your inner circle?” He tilted his head to a side. “Glad to hear that _someone_ is worth Zhou Yanchen’s time.”

Yanchen grit his teeth. “What are you trying to say?”

“Stop pretending like you can protect them, both of you. People like you, who don’t give a shit about anyone else, who don’t think about what hell you put them through, how could you understand what it’s like to care for someone? Remember Qian Zhenghao, Xingjie? Yanchen didn’t even bother to learn his name back at SM, but I did. Remember how much he looked up to Xukun and Ziyi, how much he _adored_ them?” he spat. “Do you know what he had to go through after both of them left without him? It destroyed him. He’s never been the same. Xukun and Ziyi wouldn’t recognize him anymore. But I do, because I was left behind with him. I made sure he was alive. I took accountability for everything I did, trying to keep him alive. How do you know what that feels like?”

“Zhou Rui, if you lay a hand on Ding Zeren-- _any_ of us-- again--”

“What? If he dies, what kind of effects would that have on Zhou Yanchen, who didn’t even care enough to think about all his _friends_ he was leaving behind to die? Who flits from person to person, unable to settle down? Who can only handle the closeness of a few, who can’t admit how fucking empty he feels all the time, just like the rest of us! You’re not special, Yanchen! You’re not immune to all of the shit we’ve been through!” Zhou Rui smiled, bitterly. “Back at SM, he was half in love with you, even as a kid. I bet you haven’t even said it back.”

Yanchen lunged at him.

Zhou Rui raised his arms in a defensive stance, but he didn’t need to. Yanchen felt Xingjie’s arms around his waist and couldn’t move.

“Let go,” he snarled at him. Xingjie ignored him. Yanchen struggled, but Xingjie was still stronger.

Xingjie looked at Zhou Rui, cracking at the edges with regret and hurt. “I’m sorry, Zhou Rui. It was my fault. I was wrong. I thought… I thought it was for the best. I lied to all of them. I don’t know what to say to make you understand, but just know: you’re always welcome to join us--”

“Bullshit.” Zhou Rui cut him off. His eyes were narrowed into slits, peeking through his bangs. “You have no idea, Zhu Xingjie. No fucking idea what we’ve all been through. We won’t trust you again.”

“Zhou Rui, _please_ \--”

But Zhou Rui had already turned on his heels, leaving only a swinging door in his wake.

Yanchen stared at it, unsure of what to do next until a wet feeling stained his shoulder. He turned, to find that Xingjie had buried his face in his sweater, shaking slightly. 

He had a moment of repulsion, a second where he wanted to push him away, to scream at him, as he had been doing, for lying to them, for being _wrong_ , but there was no use. Xingjie always did what he thought was best.

It wasn’t like he had done anything good either, hearing what Zhou Rui had to say.

The words stung at the back of his mind, and he swallowed. He wrapped his arms around Xingjie, refusing to think of anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! let me know what your take on zhou rui's situation is in the comments!
> 
> also, have any of you been watching snzm (少年之名)? if you haven't, li xikan, zuo ye, xu shengen, and luo jie from ipd are participating, as with a whole bunch of qcyn, czy, ytzm, etc participants!
> 
> support our dachang boys :3


	82. Linong

Linong let Zhangjing cry until he heard Wenjun bid the others goodbye, then the resounding click of the door as it shut behind them.

The boy was still weeping: Linong could tell by how his shoulders were crying, even if Zhangjing had his face buried into his hands. He could see tear droplets squeeze between his fingers and plop on the ground and could smell the faint scent of salt in the small space of the bathroom.

Linong gave him a squeeze around the shoulders from where he had his arms wrapped around his torso. “Zhangjing.”

Zhangjing didn’t say anything.

“Zhangjing. They left.” He gave a small squeeze again, unsure of what else to say.

Presently, he glanced up and saw Bi Wenjun’s lanky form at the foot of the doorway. His eyebrows were furrowed in concern, his hands raised slightly as if asking if he could help out. Linong’s heart clenched. He shook his head no, and Wenjun backed away.

Linong had heard the slap, and he had seen the imprint on Yanjun’s face. He had seen how red Yanjun’s eyes were when he hurried out of the bathroom without Zhangjing trailing behind him. And he had been the one sleeping with Zhangjing for the past two nights, after he had found the boy sobbing in him and Yanjun’s previously shared room, Yanjun nowhere to be found.

He found out later that night, when Zhangjing was finally asleep, tucked in his arms, and Yanjun had stumbled back into their suite, smelling like the night air and the salt of the sea. Yanjun had poked his head into the room, and he had met eyes with Linong for a long moment before retreating into Linong’s room. 

He had spent the entirety of the next day pacing by the ocean, while Linong worked silently with a stony-faced Zhangjing as he rifted through code and poked around in the hotel’s security systems. But he came back the second night too, had almost looked surprised that Linong was still awake, before apparently remembering that Linong quite literally couldn’t sleep, especially not when tensions were so high.

“Zhangjing,” he tried again, more gentle. “Xukun and Zhengting need us right now. They need you.”

Slowly, Zhangjing stirred again, wiping at his eyes before finally removing his hands from his face. Linong pretended that he couldn’t see how puffy or red his eyes had become.

After another long moment of careful breathing, Zhangjing moved away from Linong’s arms. “Let’s go then.”

Linong nodded, then followed him out. 

He didn’t want to push him, not when he was in this state, but he didn’t have a choice. Xukun, Zhengting, and Yanjun’s lives were at stake if they didn’t get working.

Zhangjing settled down into the armchair in what was now him and Linong’s room before beginning to set up his computer systems. Linong stood, stiff armed, in front of him, wondering what to say or do, before Zhangjing raised his puffy, tired face to him.

“Linong, could you give me a few moments alone? I just need to check all of my systems are in place.”

Linong could tell that Zhangjing didn’t believe that Linong couldn’t tell when he was lying-- Zhangjing knew better than anyone that Linong literal life was to lie-- but he didn’t know what else to do except for give him a simple “Okay.”

Zhangjing nodded at him before turning back to his laptops. Linong stared at the mop of chocolate brown hair on the top of his head, stifled the urge to hug him again, then backed out the room.

Wenjun was there as soon as he slid the door shut behind him.

“Is Zhangjing alright?” Concern was etched across his handsome features. Linong felt an inexplicable urge to smooth them out with his thumb.

“He wants some time alone.”

“But is he alright?”

Linong stared at him. “He wants some time alone.”

Wenjun peered back at him, grim realization spreading slowly across his face, before nodding slightly. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Linong agreed. He moved past him, to get out onto the balcony of the other room, where he could breath in the crisp oceanside air and just… just calm down a little.

Wenjun followed tightly behind him, his feet treading against the cool floorboards. Linong didn’t say anything to him as they walked down the hall, and Wenjun didn’t ask anything either. 

It was only when Linong snapped open the balcony door and stepped out into the salty ocean air that Wenjun spoke again.

“Why is Zhangjing upset?”

Linong didn’t answer at first, but instead braced both of his arms on the balcony railing. The sun was setting, sending rays of red and orange across the blue water. They fractured against the sea, rippling and scattering like someone had actually spilled a multicoloured oil spill across its surface. It was beautiful, in a morbid, fascinating way.

“Linong?” Wenjun asked again, very gently.

Perhaps it wasn’t his place to say anything about it, but Wenjun had always been someone who could crack Linong down the center anyways.

“Yanjun,” Linong said to the ocean. “Yanjun again.”

“He loves him.” Wenjun said it like it was nothing, his voice so crisp that Linong could help but gape at him.

“Yes,” he said, after a long pause. “He does.”  _ He has always loved him. _

“Zhangjing loves him too,” Wenjun continued on. Linong nodded slowly.

Years in the making, they were. Linong knew, all of them knew. How could they not be in love, when Zhangjing was the only person who could make Yanjun’s real smile appear, and Zhangjing looked at Yanjun with nothing less than adoration in his large, brown eyes? How could they not be in love, when Yanjun scared away anyone who looked at Zhangjing funny back at SM and killed those who did him wrong? How could they not love each other, when the only person Zhangjing could have by his side after he was rescued back from SM was Yanjun?

“Yeah. He does too.” 

Wenjun joined him in bracing his arms over the balcony railing, his eyes trained on the sunset. In the colours of the evening, his features looked exceptionally beautiful.

“Can I ask you something?”

Linong shrugged. “Anything.”

“Why can’t they accept that they love each other?” 

Linong peered at him out of the corner of his eye. Wenjun still had his eyes trained on the horizon, and his face had been wiped carefully blank.

“This is new for them. They’ve… they’ve never really noticed the feelings they had for each other, I think, even back at SM. It’s just recently that they’ve even acted on it at all.”

“But it’s obvious now, isn’t it?” Wenjun hummed. “Zhangjing must know at least, does he? He wouldn’t be this sad if he didn’t.”

Linong considered this for a moment, before saying, very quietly. “They kissed two nights ago.”

Wenjun turned slowly towards him. Linong knew-- of course he did-- when he saw the purple bruises across Zhangjing’s bottom lip when he tugged him into his arms later on that night, marks that only one person would leave behind on him and reduce him to a crying, shaking mess.

“Then why don’t they do anything? Isn’t it clear now that they adore each other?”

Linong laughed. Wenjun looked confused. 

“Wenjun,” he explained very carefully. “Yanjun was also a socialite, like myself. You know that. People like us aren’t supposed to love.”

Wenjun was silent.

“It’s hard for Yanjun to accept that he’s in love because… well… that’s one of the first things we’re told in training. Don’t fall in love, don’t believe in love, don’t trust love. We’re the ones that are supposed to make people fall in love with us; it’s our most powerful weapon, as socialites and information brokers. We can’t afford to have something so dangerous weaponized against us for a change.” He shook his head slowly. “So it’s terrifying to realize you’re in love. That must be how Yanjun feels.”

Wenjun furrowed his eyebrows. “But he’s not at SM anymore. He’s not a socialite anymore, even if he has the skills for it.”

Linong looked towards the sunset. “It doesn’t leave you, what they tell you, what you gradually learn after years in the industry. You can’t escape your past, Wenjun.”

Wenjun turned back to him. “But you  _ can _ . I can’t speak on Yanjun’s experience specifically-- or your’s for that matter-- but I can speak on my own. And even though I still remember my past sometimes, I think I’ve moved on from that.”

“Zhengting,” he said again, after a pause, his voice careful, like he was treading on ice. “When I found Zhengting, it was like I found something else to live for, something better than I had ever found before. He showed me something else about life, something that wasn’t just getting married and being locked up with contracts and business deals and fake smiles. There was something else. Isn’t that the same for Yanjun?”

Linong blinked at him. There were a thousand things he could say to him, but that died before they could leave his lips. Wenjun against the backdrop of the sunset, his features furrowed in confusion, so hopeful yet so naive, he thought. So utterly and beautifully good. He was like Zhangjing in that way, so good and so kind, that for people like Linong and Yanjun, it was like staring into the sun, too bright and unbearable.

“You’re different,” he tried. “Yanjun and I… well… we’re socialites still, at the end of the day. We’re used to… doing the worst of the work. Lying. Killing. Sleeping around. What can people like us offer for people as bright and  _ good _ as You Zhangjing?”

A tinge of bitterness crept into his voice at the end of his sentence, a note of an endlessly miserable song. Lin Yanjun was one of the kindest, most genuine, most well-deserving people he had ever met, but the truth was that he would never be able to accept that, and thus, he would never be able to accept how much people like Zhangjing loved him. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to accept it either.

He stared again at the sunset, unable to face Wenjun again. Shame prickled at the edges of his body, a reminder that he wouldn’t be able to move on, would never be able to face himself in the mirror and not see the image of who he really was: cracking at the edges, his skin spilling with the blood of a million microscopic papercuts that started from the inside. 

He felt a hand ruffle into his hair, smoothing it out at the roots.

“I feel like we keep having the same conversation,” Wenjun said softly, gently. “I keep feeling like I have to remind you how beautiful you are inside.”

Linong was silent.

“Please, Linong.” Wenjun’s voice was softer still. “I told you at dinner that night, but I think the waiter ruined it for us. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done or what you’ve had to go through in the past. Yanjun is just Yanjun, at the end of the day, and you’re still you. People… love you for who you are. You don’t have to be ashamed for that.” He paused. “You don’t have to change to move on.”

Linong didn’t speak for a long moment. His chest was filling up with that foreign feeling again, the one that filtered in only on the most tender evenings, when he couldn’t sleep but  _ someone _ was there to hold his hand through it. The one that he felt when he had when Wenjun told him the same thing two nights ago at dinner. 

_ Sleep with me _ , he wanted to say, knowing that Wenjun would know what he meant. He wanted to tell Wenjun how much the words meant to him, how much he relied on them, how much they kept him grounded like nothing else had.

Instead, he opened his mouth and blurted out. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

“Why would I be afraid of you?” Wenjun countered gently.

“You… you watched me kill now. You know how brutal I am, first hand. You’ve spent months with me, hearing about how I’ve fucked and killed and torn people apart with my own teeth and hands. You’ve seen how I can’t sleep, and have heard what exactly keeps me up at night. You’ve seen so much of me, all my horrors and all my monsters. Why aren’t you afraid?”

Wenjun smiled in a way that was so inexplicably gentle, so miserable. “Why would I be afraid of the most beautiful person I’ve ever met?”

“Isn’t that Zhengting?”

He watched as the words hit Wenjun, sank into his skin, and he regretted them. He watched Wenjun’s expression crack, tiredness and sorrow flooding in one big wave across his face. Then, he watched as he composed himself, his face softening and healing itself.

“He’s not mine to call him that. He’ll never be mine to love,” he said slowly, carefully, into the sun. “You’re important to me as well. I miss helping you fall asleep you know? It’s like… it’s like helping a better version of myself.” He swallowed.

There were so many things he could have said at the moment, so many things to ask, and above all, he wanted to ask him what the feeling he was feeling was. What exactly it was that was twisting his heart so acutely. But he didn’t. He looked, instead, at Bi Wenjun’s sad, sad eyes, and wished, perhaps foolishly, that he wouldn’t be in love with Zhengting anymore.

A bang broke the silence.

Linong looked back at the balcony door to see Zhangjing, hands fisted tightly against the handle, his face pale. He was trembling again.

“We need to go. Yanjun needs us.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor wenjun...

**Author's Note:**

> come ask me questions or just talk about anything on my [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/ramenree)
> 
> come follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ramenreee) to see my obsessions and talk to me about anything :)
> 
> comments and kudos really motivate me, so leave one if you have some time!


End file.
